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• 



THE BIOGRAPHICAL EDITION 

OF THE WORKS OF 

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 


THE BLACK ARROW 

A TALE OF THE TWO ROSES 


THE BIOGRAPHICAL EDITION 
OF STEVENSON’S WORKS 


NOVELS AND ROMANCES 
TREASURE ISLAND 
PRINCE OTTO 
KIDNAPPED 
THE BLACK ARROW 
THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE 
THE WRONG BOX 
THE WRECKER 
DAVID BALFOUR 
THE EBB-TIDE 
WEIR OF HERMISTON 
ST IVES 

SHORTER S TORIES 
NEW ARABIAN NIGHTS 
THE DYNAMITER 

THE MERRY MEN. containittg' DR. JEKYLL 
AND MR. HYDE 

ISLAND NIGHTS’ ENTERTAINMENTS 

ESSA vs, TRA VELS SKETCHES 

AN INLAND VOYAGE 
TRAVELS WITH A DONKEY 
VIRGINIBUS PUERISQUE 
FAMILIAR STUDIES 

THE AMATEUR EMIGRANT, containing^ THE 
SILVERADO SQUATTERS 
MEMORIES AND PORTRAITS 
IN THE SOUTH SEAS 
ACROSS THE PLAINS 

ESSAYS OF TRAVEL AND IN THE ART OF 
WRITING 

LAY MORALS AND OTHER PAPERS 

POEMS 

COMPLETE POEMS 


THE LETTERS OF ROBERT LOUIS 
STEVENSON. 4 »oIs. 

THE LIFE OF ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 
By Graham Balfour. Abridged Edition in one volume 


Thirty^oue volumes. Sold singly or in sets 

Charles Scribner’s Sons, New York 


BIOGRAPHICAL EDITION 


THE 

BLACK ARROW 


A TALE OF THE TWO ROSES 


BY 

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 


WITH A PREFACE BT MRS. STETENSON 


NEW YORK 

CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS 
1922 





Copyright, 1905, by 
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS 


Printed in the United States of America 

lleplncamenfc 



PREFACE 


TO 

THE BIOGRAPHICAL EDITION 

T he season for invalids in Hyeres, where we 
had spent the winter of 1883-1884, comes 
to an end with the spring months. My hus- 
band was still so weak after an almost fatal illness 
that we were in doubt whether he would be strong 
enough to join in the general exodus; but the in- 
creasing epidemic of cholera so near as Toulon 
forced us to make the attempt. Travelling by easy 
stages, we first tried Vichy, with ill success. The 
climate proved enervating, and the meals at the 
hotel — at all the hotels so far as we could judge 
— were apparently meant for persons suffering 
from a plethoric habit, and hardly a proper diet for* 
visitors with weak lungs. 

After a couple of days’ trial we shook the dust of 

Copyright, 1905, by Charles Scribner’s Sons 


vi 


PREFACE 


Vichy from our feet and moved on to Clermont- 
Ferrand. This was a shade better, though we had 
doubts as to its sanitary condition; and the pic- 
turesque streets, besides, were close, and likely to 
become more airless as the summer advanced. 
However, The Black Arrow, begun in the chalet 
in Hyeres, and continued here and there at our 
various stopping places, was again taken up and 
another chapter written, while my son and I scoured 
the neighbourhood in search of a more suitable spot 
for the ensuing months. 

.- ‘The Black Arrow was conceived and written 
to fill a serial order from Mr. Henderson for his 
paper. Young Folks, where Treasure Island first 
saw the light. No one could accuse my husband 
of showing a mercenary spirit in the sale of The 
Black Arrow, for which he accepted Mr. Hen- 
derson’s offer of about three dollars a thousand 
words, just after receiving two hundred and fifty 
pounds from Mr. C. J. Longmans for the magazine 
rights of Prince Otto^' 

Treasure Island did not score the success in 
Young Folk* that it did afterwards in book form. 


PREFACE 


vii 

The measure of its popularity could be gauged by a 
space in the paper devoted to questions and answers. 
The boys and girls used pseudonyms taken from 
the various stories of the day; we looked in vain 
for Jim Hawkins or John Silver, while Don Zalva 
eagerly demanded information on raising chickens 
for profit, and Gonzales de Bel wished to learn 
the tonnage of the Great Eastern. My husband 
was seized by a desire to capture this audience, 
and he had, besides, taken a sincere liking to Mr. 
Henderson, whom he met in Red Lion Court when 
we passed through London on our way to Swit- 
zerland. The Black Arrow seemed to meet the 
requirements of the subscribers of Young Folks, 
for while it was running through the paper at every 
week’s end numbers of questioners signed them- 
selves John Amend-All, Dick Shelton, or Joanna 
Sedley. 

The first-page artist of Young Folks, must have 
been, perhaps at an earlier stage of his career, a 
political cartoonist of some merit; at least Glad- 
stone, Disraeli, and other national celebrities fig- 
ured conspicuously in his illustrations. It was an 


Vlll 


PREFACE 


endless amusement to my husband to discover Mr. 
Gladstone in medicCval armour on the poop of a 
Spanish galleon, or Lord Beaconsfield scaling a wall 
with a broadsword in his teeth, or John Bright 
throwing down the gauntlet to the Saracens. 

'i , Within a short distance of Clermont my son and 
I came upon an enchanting little watering place, 
then comparatively unknown to the English tour- 
ists, called Royat. It lay on high ground, had 
comfortable hotels, and the surroundings were 
charming. Behind the town rose the Puy de Dome, 
and in front stretched the broad plains once covered 
by Roman armies. Caesar himself had bathed in 
the healing waters of the Royat springs. 

The beginning of the road leading to the Puy 
de Dome, to us the main attraction of Royat, ran 
along wooded ravines and cliffs where the sound of 
waterfalls was almost continuous. In the centre 
of the old town, a little above the hotels, stood an 
ancient cathedral, part of it in tolerable preserva- 
tion, and still used for the services of the Catholic 
church. Its walls were loop-holed for purposes of 
defence, there were hooded projections on the 


PREFACE 


IX 


towers for sentries, or perhaps archers, and the iron- 
bound doors were solid enough to withstand 'a 
battering ram. 

The baths were more or less arsenical ; some so 
strongly impregnated that they were dangerous, 
and only given out to drink, in limited quantities, 
by virtue of the doctor’s prescription. One source 
had a flavour that reminded you of weak chicken 
broth, and another effervesced, when you plunged 
into it, like champagne. 

There were two ways to reach the baths from our 
hotel ; we might choose an exceedingly steep street, 
or go more directly down an immense flight of 
precipitous stairs. As it was our stately, though 
uncomfortable custom to be carried in sedan chairs, 
we generally went by way of the street. There had 
already been accidents on the stairs ; should a 
bearer slip or lose his hold the consequences would 
be disastrous. It was against the law for chairs 
to be taken down the stairs ; but if the bearers had 
several fares in view they were very apt to ignore 
the regulation. When you ordered a chair, unless 
contrary directions were given, it was brought into 


X 


PREFACE 


your bedroom. You stepped inside, usually in your 
dressing-gown; the door was closed and the cur- 
tains drawn until you arrived at your destination, 
where you alighted in front of your bathtub. The 
privacy was absolute and the discomfort extreme. 
As you could not see out, you were always ner- 
vously uncertain what route your bearer had taken, 
and you might unexpectedly find yourself in the 
middle of the forbidden stairs. The air space was 
limited, and in warm weather the interior of the 
chair became very stuffy. There were two bearers 
to each chair, who went at a jog trot, purposely 
refraining from keeping step, which would swing 
their burden from side to side. The uneven move- 
ment gave a jolting effect that was the most tiring 
thing imaginable. 

Here amid these romantic, almost theatrical sur- 
roundings, The Black Arrow was continued with 
almost no effort, and chapter after chapter was 
despatched to Mr. Henderson. The fresh air of the 
hills, the easy nature of his work, and the pleasant, 
quiet life had a favourable effect on my husband’s 
health. He was soon able to take long drives on 


the beautiful Puy de Dome road ; and in the even- 
ings he often went down to the grounds of the 
casino, where an excellent string band played in a 
little kiosk. The management of the casino printed 
a daily sheet giving the musical programme of the 
day and the title of the piece to be played in the 
casino theatre the same evening. Among the ad- 
vertisements were, “ English service every Simday 
ate one o’clock, begirming the first of July.” 

Our descriptions of Royat in our letters to my 
husband’s parents induced them to join us. They 
were so charmed with the place that they remained 
with us the rest of the summer, which gave my hus- 
band the advantage of his father’s able criticism on 
The Black Arrow. 

Although to all outward appearances my father- 
in-law was a vigorous man of well-preserved middle 
age, his health was already beginning to fail. Of 
this he was acutely conscious. He had a power of 
transmitting his own tragic gloom to those about 
him that was overwhelming; but these shadows 
of a great mind falling into eclipse were instantly 
dissipated by the presence of his son. In the midst 


Xll 


PREFACE 


of a wild monologue on religion, death, and eter- 
nity, I would see a change pass over his face, the 
stern features relaxing into a smile, the eyes soft- 
ening with a pathetic tenderness, “ Here comes 
Lou,” he would say; “ we will change the subject.” 
The son would be greeted with a droll witticism, 
or perhaps a pertinent suggestion for The Black 
Arrow. Even at the very end of my father-in- 
law’s life, which closed in darkness, he was able 
for short periods to concentrate his mind sufficiently 
to give intelligent advice on his son’s work. 

With the end of the summer came the last chapter 
of The Black Arrow and our return to Hyeres, 
where my husband took up other more exacting 
work. 

F. V. DE G. S. 


Critic on the Hearth: 

No one but myself knows what I have sufifered, nor what 
my books have gained, by your unsleeping watchfulness and 
admirable pertinacity. And now here is a volume that goes 
into the world and lacks your imprimatur : a strange thing in 
our joint lives ; and the reason of it stranger still ! I have 
watched with interest, with pain, and at length with amusement, 
your unavailing attempts to peruse The Black Arrow ; and I 
think I should lack humour indeed, if I let the occasion slip 
and did not place your name in the fly-leaf of the only book 
of mine that you have never read — and never will read. 

That others may display more constancy is still my hope. 
The tale was written years ago for a particular audience and 
(I may say) in rivalry with a particular author; I think J should 
do well to name him, Mr. Alfred R. Phillips. It was not with- 
out its reward at the time. I could not, indeed, displace 
Mr. Phillips from his well-won priority; but in the eyes of 
readers who thought less than nothirig of Treasure Island, 
The Black Arrow was supposed to mark a clear advance. 
Those who read volumes and those who read story papers 
belong to different worlds. The verdict on Treasure Island 
was reversed in the other court ; I wonder, will it be the same 
with its successor? 

R. L. S. 


Saranac Lake, April 8 , 1888. 


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CONTENTS 


Prologue 

Page 

John Amend-all i 

Book I 

The Two Lads 
Chapter 

I At the Sign of the Sun in Kettley ... 25 

II In the Fen 37 

III The Fen Ferry 45 

IV A Greenwood Company 55 

V “Bloody as the Hunter” 66 

VI To the Day’s End 78 

VII The Hooded Face 88 

Book II 

The Moat House 

I Dick asks Questions 103 

II The Two Oaths 114 

III The Room over the Chapel 124 

IV The Passage 133 

V How Dick changed Sides 140 

Book III 

My Lord Foxham 

I The House by the Shore 153 

II A Skirmish in the Dark 163 

III St. Bride’s Cross 177 

IV The “Good Hope” 177 

V The “Good Hope” (Continued) 189 

VI The “ Good Hope ” (Concluded) 197 


XVI 


C O N T E N T S 


Book IV 

The Disguise 

Chapter Page 

I The Den 207 

II “In Mine Enemies’ House” 217 

JII The Dead Spy 230 

IV In the Abbey Church 240 

V Earl Risingham 253 

VI Arblaster again 258 

Book V 

Crookback 

I The Shrill Trumpet 275 

II The Battle of Shoreby 285 

III The Battle of Shoreby (Concluded) . . . 294 

IV The Sack of Shoreby 300 

V Night in the Woods ; Alicia Risingham . 313 

VI Night in the Woods (Concluded)-. Dick and 

, Joan 323 

VII Dick’s Revenge 336 

VIII Conclusion 342 


THE BLACK ARROW 

A TALE Op THE TWO ROSES 


PROLOGUE 

JOHN AMEND-ALL 

O N a certain afternoon, in the late spring- 
time, the bell upon Tunstall Moat House 
was heard ringing at an unaccustomed 
hour. Far and near, in the forest and in the fields 
along the river, people began to desert their labours 
and hurry towards the sound; and in Tunstall 
hamlet a group of poor countryfolk stood wonder- 
ing at the summons. 

Tunstall hamlet at that period, in the reign of 
old King Henry VL, wore much the same appear- 
ance as it wears to-day. A score or so of houses, 
heavily framed with oak, stood scattered in a long 
green valley ascending from the river. At the foot, 
the road crossed a bridge, and mounting on the 
other side, disappeared into the fringes of the forest 
on its way to the Moat House, and further forth to 
Holywood Abbey. Half-way up the village, the 
church stood among yews. On every side the slopes 
were crowned and the view bounded by the green 
elms and greening oak-trees of the forest 


2 


THE BLACK ARROW 


Hard by the bridge, there was a stone cross upon 
a knoll, and here the group had collected — half-a- 
dozen women and one tall fellow in a russet smock 
— discussing what the bell betided. An express 
had gone through the hamlet half an hour be- 
fore, and drunk a pot of ale in the saddle, not 
daring to dismount for the hurry of his errand; 
but he had been ignorant himself of what was 
forward, and only bore sealed letters from Sir 
Daniel Brackley to Sir Oliver Oates, the par- 
son, who kept the Moat House in the master’s 
absence. 

But now there was the noise of a horse; and 
soon, out of the edge of the wood and over the 
echoing bridge, there rode up young Master Rich- 
ard Shelton, Sir Daniel’s ward. He, at the least, 
would know, and they hailed him and begged him 
to explain. He drew bridle willingly enough — 
a young fellow not yet eighteen, sun-browned and 
grey-eyed, in a jacket of deer’s leather, with a 
black velvet collar, a green hood upon his head, and 
a steel cross-bow at his back. The express, it 
appeared, had brought great news. A battle was 
impending. Sir Daniel had sent for every man 
that could draw a bow or carry a bill to go post- 
haste to Kettley, under pain of his severe displeas- 
ure ; but for whom they were to fight, or of where 
the battle was expected, Dick knew nothing. Sir 
Oliver would come shortly himself, and Bennet 
Hatch was arming at that moment, for he it was 
who should lead the party. 

‘‘ It is the ruin of this kind land,” a woman sa'd 


j THE BLACK ARROW j 

I 

! “ If the barons live at war, ploughfolk must eat 
roots.” 

“ Nay,” said Dick, “ every man that follows 
shall have sixpence a day, and archers twelve.” 

“ If they live,” returned the woman, “ that may 
very well be ; but how if they die, my master ? ” 

” They cannot better die than for their natural 
lord,” said Dick. 

“ No natural lord of mine,” said the man in the 
smock. “ I followed the Walsinghams ; so we all 
did down Brierly way, till two years ago, come 
Candlemas. And now I must side with Brackley! 
It was the law that did it; call ye that natural? 
But now, what with Sir Daniel and what with Sir 
Oliver — that knows more of law than honesty — 
I have no natural lord but poor King Harry the 
Sixt, God bless him ! — the poor innocent that can- 
not tell his right hand from his left.” 

“Ye speak with an ill tongiie, friend,” answered 
Dick, “ to miscall your good master and my lord the 
king in the same libel. But King Harry — praised 
be the saints ! — has come again into his right mind, 
and will have all things peaceably ordained. And 
as for Sir Daniel, y’ are very brave behind his back. 
But I will be no tale-bearer ; and let that suffice.” 

“ I say no harm of you. Master Richard,” re- 
turned the peasant. “ Y’ are a lad ; but when ye 
come to a man’s inches, ye will find ye have an 
empty pocket. I say no more : the saints help Sir 
Daniel’s neighbours, and the Blessed Maid protect 
his wards ! ” 

“ Clipsby,” said Richard, “ you speak what I 


4 


THE BLACK ARROW 


cannot hear with honour. Sir Daniel is my good 
master, and my guardian.” 

“Come, now, will ye read me a riddle?” re- 
turned Clipsby. “ On whose side is Sir Daniel? ” 

“ I know not,” said Dick, colouring a little ; for 
his guardian had changed sides continually in the 
troubles of that period, and every change had 
brought him some increase of fortune. 

“ Ay,” returned Clipsby, “ you, nor no man. 
For, indeed, he is one that goes to bed Lancaster 
and gets up York.” 

Just then the bridge rang under horse-shoe iron, 
and the party turned and saw Bennet Hatch come 
galloping — a brown-faced, grizzled fellow, heavy 
of hand and grim of mien, armed with sword and 
spear, a steel salet on liis head, a leather jack upon 
his body. He was a great man In these parts; Sir 
Daniel’s right hand in peace and war, and at that 
time, by his master’s interest, bailiff of the hundred. 

“ Clipsby,” he shouted, “ off to the Moat House, 
and send all other laggards the same gate. Bowyer 
will give you jack and salet. We must ride before 
curfew. Look to it : he that is last at the lych-gate 
Sir Daniel shall reward. Look to it right well ! I 
know you for a man of naught. Nance,” he added, 
to one of the women, “ is old Appleyard up town ? ” 

“ I 11 warrant you,” replied the woman. “ In 
his field, for sure.” 

So the group dispersed, and while Clipsby walked 
leisurely over the bridge, Bennet and young Shel- 
ton rode up the road together, through the village 
and past the church. 


THE BLACK ARROW 


5 

“Ye will see the old shrew,” said Bennet. “ He 
will waste more time grumbling and prating of 
Harry the Fift than would serve a man to shoe a 
horse. And all because he has been to the French 
wars ! ” 

The house to which they were bound was the 
last in the village, standing alone among lilacs ; and 
beyond it, on three sides, there was open meadow 
rising towards the borders of the wood. 

Hatch dismounted, threw his rein over the fence, 
and walked down the field, Dick keeping close at 
his elbow, to where the old soldier was digging, 
knee-deep in his cabbages, and now and again, in 
a cracked voice, singing a snatch of song. He was 
all dressed in leather, only his hood and tippet were 
of black frieze, and tied with scarlet ; his face was 
like a walnut-shell, both for colour and wrinkles; 
but his old grey eye was still clear enough, and his 
sight unabated. Perhaps he was deaf ; perhaps he 
thought it unworthy of an old archer of Agincourt 
to pay any heed to such disturbances; but neither 
the surly notes of the alarm bell, nor the near ap- 
proach of Bennet and the lad, appeared at all to 
move him ; and he continued obstinately digging, 
and piped up, very thin and shaky: 

“ Now, dear lady, if thy will be, 

I pray you that you will rue on me.” 

“ Nick Appleyard,” said Hatch, “ Sir Oliver 
commends him to you, and bids that ye shall come 
within this hour to the Moat House, there to take 
command.” 

The old fellow looked up. 


6 THE BLACK ARROW 


“Save you, my masters!” he said, grinning. 
“ And where goeth Master Hatch ? ” 

“ Master Hatch is off to Kettley, with every 
man that we can horse,” returned Bennet. “ There 
is a fight toward, it seems, and my lord stays a 
reinforcement.” 

“ Ay, verily,” returned Appleyard. “ And what 
will ye leave me to garrison withal ? ” 

“ I leave you six good men, and Sir Oliver to 
boot,” answered Hatch. 

“ It ’ll not hold the place,” said Appleyard ; “ the 
number sufficeth not. It would take two-score to 
make it good.” 

“ Why, it ’s for that we came to you, old 
shrew!” replied the other. “Who else is there 
but you that could do aught in such a house with 
such a garrison? ” 

“ Ay ! when the pinch comes, ye remember the 
old shoe,” returned Nick. “ There is not a man 
of you can back a horse or hold a bill ; and as for 
archery — St. Michael ! if old Harry the Fift were 
back again, he would stand and let ye shoot at him 
for a farthen a shoot! ” 

“ Nay, Nick, there ’s some can draw a good bow 
yet,” said Bennet. 

“ Draw a good bow! ” cried Appleyard. “ Yes! 
But who ’ll shoot me a good shoot ? It ’s there the 
eye comes in, and the head between your shoulders. 
Now, what might you call a long shoot, Bennet 
Hatch?” 

“ Well,” said Bennet, looking about him, “ it 
would be a long shoot from here into the forest.’’ 


THE BLACK ARROW 


7 


“ Ay, it would be a longish shoot,” said the old 
fellow, turning to look over his shoulder; and 
then he put up his hand over his eyes, and stood 
staring. 

. “Why, what are you looking at?” asked Ben- 
net, with a chuckle. “ Do you see Harry the 
Fift ? ” 

The veteran continued looking up the hill in 
silence. The sun shone broadly over the shelving 
meadows; a few white sheep wandered browsing; 
all was still but the distant jangle of the bell. 

“ What is it, Appleyard ? ” asked Dick. 

“ Why, the birds,” said Appleyard. 

And, sure enough, over the top of the forest, 
where it ran down in a tongue among the meadows, 
and ended in a pair of goodly green elms, about a 
Ijowshot from the field where they were standing, 
a flight of birds was skimming to and fro, in evi- 
dent disorder. 

“ What of the birds ? ” said Bennet. 

“ Ay! ” returned Appleyard, “ y’ are a wise man 
to go to war, Master Bennet. Birds are a good 
sentry; in forest places they be the first line of 
battle. Look you, now, if we lay here in camp, 
there might be archers skulking down to get the 
wind of us; and here would you be, none the 
wiser! ” 

“ Why, old shrew,” said Hatch, “ there be no 
men nearer us than Sir Daniel’s, at Kettley; y’ 
are as safe as in London Tower; and ye raise 
scares upon a man for a few chaffinches and 
sparrows ! ” 


8 


THE BLACK ARROW 


“ Hear him ! ” grinned Appleyard. “ How many 
a rogue would give his two crop ears to have a 
shoot at either of us? St. Michael, man! they 
hate us like two polecats!” 

“ Well, sooth it is, they hate Sir Daniel,” an- 
swered Hatch, a little sobered. 

Ay, they hate Sir Daniel, and they hate every 
man that serves with him,” said Appleyard; “ and 
in the first order of hating, they hate Bennet Hatch 
and old Nicholas the bowman. See ye here: if 
there was a stout fellow yonder in the wood-edge, 
and you and I stood fair for him — as, by St. 
George, we stand ! — which, think ye, would he 
choose ? ” 

“ You, for a good wager,” answered Hatch. 

“ My surcoat to a leather belt, it would be you ! ” 
cried the old archer. “Ye burned Grimstone, Ben- 
net — they ’ll ne’er forgive you that, my master. 
And as for me, I ’ll soon be in a good place, God 
grant, and out of bow-shoot — ay, and cannon- 
shoot — of all their malices. I am an old man, and 
draw fast to homeward, where the bed is ready. 
But for you, Bennet, y’ are to remain behind here 
at your own peril, and if ye come to my years un- 
hanged, the old true-blue English spirit will be 
dead.” 

“ Y’ are the shrewishest old dolt in Tunstall 
Forest,” returned Hatch, visibly ruffled by these 
threats. “ Get ye to your arms before Sir Oliver 
come, and leave prating for one good while. An 
ye had talked so much with Harry the Fift, his 
ears would ha’ been richer than his pocket.” 


THE BLACK ARROW 


9 


An arrow sang in the air, like a huge hornet ; it 
struck old Appleyard between the shoulder-blades, 
and pierced him clean through, and he fell for- 
ward on his face among the cabbages. Hatch, with 
a broken cry, leapt into the air; then, stooping 
double, he ran for the cover of the house. And in 
the meanwhile Dick Shelton had dropped behind 
a lilac, and had his cross-bow bent and shouldered, 
covering the point of the forest. 

Not a leaf stirred. The sheep were patiently 
browsing; the birds had settled. But there lay 
the old man, with a cloth-yard arrow standing in 
his back; and there were Hatch holding to the 
gable, and Dick crouching and ready behind the 
lilac bush. 

“ D’ ye see aught? ” cried Hatch. 

“ Not a twig stirs,” said Dick. 

“ I think shame to leave him lying,” said Bennet, 
coming forward once more with hesitating steps 
and a very pale countenance. “ Keep a good eye 
on the wood, Master Shelton — keep a clear eye 
on the wood. The saints assoil us! here was a 
good shoot I ” 

Bennet raised the old archer on his knee. He 
was not yet dead; his face worked, and his eyes 
shut and opened like machinery, and he had a most 
horrible, ugly look of one in pain. 

“ Can ye hear, old Nick ? ” asked Hatch. “ Have 
ye a last wish before ye wend, old brother ? ” 

“ Pluck out the shaft, and let me pass, a’ Mary’s 
name ! ” gasped Appleyard. “ I be done with Old 
England. Pluck it out I ” 


lO 


' ' 

THE BLACK ARROW 


“ Master Dick,” said Bennet, “ come hither, and 
pull me a good pull upon the arrow. He would 
fain pass, the poor sinner.” 

Dick laid down his cross-bow, and pulling hard 
upon the arrow, drew it forth. A gush of blood 
followed; the old archer scrambled half upon his 
feet, called once upon the name of God, and then 
fell dead. Hatch, upon his knees among the cab- 
bages, prayed fervently for the welfare of the pass- 
ing spirit. But even as he prayed, it was plain 
that his mind was still divided, and he kept ever 
an eye upon the corner of the wood from which 
the shot had come. When he had done, he got to 
his feet again, drew off one of his mailed gauntlets, 
and wiped his pale face, which was all wet with 
terror. 

“ Ay,” he said, “ it ’ll be my turn next.” 

“ Who hath done this, Bennet? ” Richard asked, 
still holding the arrow in his hand. 

“ Nay, the saints know,” said Hatch. “ Here 
are a good two-score Christian souls that we have 
hunted out of house and holding, he and I. He has 
paid his shot, poor shrew, nor will it be long, 
mayhap, ere I pay mine. Sir Daniel driveth over- 
hard.” 

“ This is a strange shaft,” said the lad, looking 
at the arrow in his hand. 

“ Ay, by my faith ! ” cried Bennet. “ Black, and 
black-feathered. Here is an ill-favoured shaft, by 
my sooth ! for black, they say, bodes burial. And 
here be words written. Wipe the blood away. 
What read ye ? ” 


THE BLACK ARROW ii 


‘ Appulyaird fro Jon Amend-Allf ” read Shel- 
ton. “ What should this betoken? ” 

“ Nay, I like it not,” returned the retainer, shak- 
ing his head. “ John Amend-All ! Here is a 
rogue’s name for those that be up in the world! 
But why stand we here to make a mark? Take 
him by the knees, good Master Shelton, while I 
lift him by the shoulders, and let us lay^him in 
his house. This will be a rare shog to poor Sir 
Oliver; he will turn paper colour; he will pray 
like a windmill.” 

They took up the old archer, and carried him 
between them into his house, where he had dwelt 
alone. And there they laid him on the floor, out 
of regard for the mattress, and sought, as best they 
might, to straighten and compose his limbs. 

Appleyard’s house was clean and bare. There 
was a bed, with a blue cover, a cupboard, a great 
chest, a pair of joint-stools, a hinged table in the 
chimney-corner, and hung upon the wall the old 
soldier’s armoury of bows and defensive armour. 
Hatch began to look about him curiously. 

“ Nick had money,” he said. “ He may have 
had three-score pounds put by. I would I could 
light upon ’t 1 When ye lose an old friend, Master 
Richard, the best consolation is to heir him. See, 
now, this chest. I would go a mighty wager there 
is a bushel of gold therein. He had a strong hand 
to get, and a hard hand to keep withal, had Apple- 
yard the archer. Now may God rest his spirit! 
Near eighty year he was afoot and about, and ever 
getting ; but now he ’s on the broad of his back. 


12 THE BLACK ARROW 


poor shrew, and no more lacketh ; and if his chat- 
tels came to a good friend, he would be merrier, 
methinks, in heaven.” 

“ Come, Hatch,” said Dick, “ respect his stone- 
blind eyes. Would ye rob the man before his body ? 
Nay, he would walk! ” 

Hatch made several signs of the cross; but by 
this time his natural complexion had returned, and 
he was not easily to be dashed from any purpose. 
It would have gone hard with the chest had not the 
gate sounded, and presently after the door of the 
house opened and admitted a tall, portly, ruddy, 
black-eyed man of near fifty, in a surplice and black 
robe. 

‘‘ Appleyard ” the newcomer was saying, 

as he entered ; but he stopped dead. “ Ave 
Maria! ” he cried. “ Saints be our shield! What 
cheer is this ? ” 

“ Cold cheer with Appleyard, sir parson,” an- 
swered Hatch, with perfect cheerfulness. “ Shot 
at his own door, and alighteth even now at purga- 
tory gates. Ay! there, if tales be true, he shall 
lack neither coal nor candle.” 

Sir Oliver groped his way to a joint-stool, and 
sat down upon it, sick and white. 

“This is a judgment! O, a great stroke!” he 
sobbed, and rattled off a leash of prayers. 

Hatch meanwhile reverently doffed his salet and 
knelt down. 

“ Ay, Bennet,” said the priest, somewhat recov- 
ering, “ and what may this be? What enemy hath 
done this? ” 


THE BLACK ARROW 13 

“ Here, Sir Oliver, is the arrow. See, it is writ- 
ten upon with words,” said Dick. 

“ Nay,” cried the priest, “ this is a foul hearing! 
John Amend-All! A right Lollardy word. And 
black of hue, as for an omen ! Sirs, this knave 
arrow likes me not. But it importeth rather to take 
counsel. Who should this be? Bethink you, Ben- 
net. Of so many black ill-willers, which should 
he be that doth so hardily outface us? Simnel? 
I do much question it. The Walsinghams? Nay, 
they are not yet so broken ; they still think to have 
the law over us, when times change. There was 
Simon Malmesbury, too. How think ye, Bennet ? ” 

“ What think ye, sir,” returned Hatch, “ of Ellis 
Duckworth ? ” 

“ Nay, Bennet, never. Nay, not he,” said the 
priest. “ There cometh never any rising, Bennet, 
from below — so all judicious chroniclers concord 
in their opinion ; but rebellion travelleth ever down- 
ward from above; and when Dick, Tom, and 
Harry take them to their bills, look ever narrowly 
to see what lord is profited thereby. Now, Sir 
Daniel, having once more joined him to the 
Queen’s party, is in ill odour with the Yorkist 
lords. Thence, Bennet, comes the blow — by what 
procuring, I yet seek; but therein lies the nerve 
of this discomfiture.” 

“ An ’t please you. Sir Oliver,” said Bennet, “ the 
axles are so hot in this country that I have long- 
been smelling fire. So did this poor sinner. Apple- 
yard. And, by your leave, men’s spirits are so 
foully inclined to all of us, that it needs neither 


THE BLACK ARROW 

York nor Lancaster to spur them on. Hear my 
plain thoughts; You, that are a clerk, and Sir 
Daniel, that sails on any wind, ye have taken many 
men’s goods, and beaten and hanged not a few. 
Y’ are called to count for this; in the end, I wot 
not how, ye have ever the uppermost at law, and 
ye think all patched. But give me leave. Sir Oliver ; 
the man that ye have dispossessed and beaten is but 
the angrier, and some day, when the black devil is 
by, he will up with his bow and clout me a yard of 
arrow through your inwards.” 

“ Nay, Bennet, y are in the wrong. Bennet, ye 
should be glad to be corrected,” said Sir Oliver. 
“ Y’ are a prater, Bennet, a talker, a babbler ; your 
mouth is wider than your two ears. Mend it, 
Bennet, mend it.” 

“ Nay, I say no more. Have it as ye list,” said 
the retainer. 

The priest now rose from the stool, and from the 
writing-case that hung about his neck took forth 
wax and a taper, and a flint and steel. With these 
he sealed up the chest and the cupboard with Sir 
Daniel’s arms. Hatch looking on disconsolate ; and 
then the whole party proceeded, somewhat timor- 
ously, to sally from the house and get to horse. 

“ ’T is time we were on the road. Sir Oliver,” 
said Hatch, as he held the priest’s stirrup while he 
mounted. 

“ Ay ; but, Bennet, things are changed,” returned 
the parson. “ There is now no Appleyard — rest 
his soul ! — to keep the garrison. I shall keep you, 
Bennet. I must have a good man to rest me on in 


THE BLACK ARROW 15 

this day of black arrows. ‘ The arrow that flieth 
by day,’ saith the evangel ; I have no mind of the 
context; nay, I am a sluggard priest, I am too 
deep in men’s affairs. Well, let us ride forth. 
Master Hatch. The jackmen should be at the 
church by now.” 

So they rode forward down the road, with the 
wind after them, blowing the tails of the parson’s 
cloak ; and behind them, as they went, clouds 
began to arise and blot out the sinking sun. They 
had passed three of the scattered houses that make 
up Tunstall hamlet, when, coming to a turn, they 
saw the church before them. Ten or a dozen 
houses clustered immediately round it; but to the 
back the churchyard was next the meadows. At 
the lych-gate, near a score of men’ were gathered, 
some in the saddle, some standing by their horses’ 
heads. They were variously armed and mounted; 
some with spears, some with bills, some with bows, 
and some bestriding plough-horses, still splashed 
with the mire of the furrow; for these were the 
very dregs of the country, and all the better men 
and the fair equipments were already with Sir 
Daniel in the field. 

“ We have not done amiss, praised be the cross 
of Holywood! Sir Daniel will be right well con- 
tent,” observed the priest, inwardly numbering the 
troop. 

“Who goes? Stand! if ye be true!” shouted 
Bennet. 

A man was seen slipping through the church- 
yard among the yews; and at the sound of this 


i6 THE BLACK ARROW 


summons he discarded all concealment, and fairly 
took to his heels for the forest. The men at the 
gate, who had been hitherto unaware of the 
stranger’s presence, woke and scattered. Those 
who had dismounted began scrambling into the 
saddle; the rest rode in pursuit; but they had to 
make the circuit of the consecrated ground, and it 
was plain their quarry would escape them. Hatch, 
roaring an oath, put his horse at the hedge, to head 
him off; but the beast refused, and sent his rider 
sprawling in the dust. And though he was up 
again in a moment, and had caught the bridle, the 
time had gone by, and the fugitive had gained too 
great a lead for any hope of capture. 

The wisest of all had been Dick Shelton. In- 
stead of starting in a vain pursuit, he had whipped 
his cross-bow from his back, bent it, and set a 
quarrel to the string; and now, when the others 
had desisted, he turned to Bennet and asked if he 
should shoot. 

“ Shoot ! shoot ! ” cried the priest, with san- 
guinary violence. 

“ Cover him. Master Dick,” said Bennet. 
“ Bring me him down like a ripe apple.” 

The fugitive was now within but a few leaps of 
safety ; but this last part of the meadow ran very 
steeply up-hill ; and the man ran slower in propor- 
tion. What with the greyness of the falling night, 
and the uneven movements of the runner, it was 
no easy aim ; and as Dick levelled his bow, he felt 
a kind of pity, and a half desire that he might miss. 
The quarrel sped. 


THE BLACK ARROW 17 

The man stumbled and fell, and a . great cheer 
arose from Hatch and the pursuers. But they 
were counting their corn before the harvest. The 
man fell lightly ; he was lightly afoot again, turned 
and waved his cap in a bravado, and was out of 
sight next moment in the margin of the wood. 

“ And the plague go with him ! ” cried Bennet. 
“ He has thieves’ heels ; he can run, by St. Ban- 
bury! ^But you touched him. Master Shelton; he 
has stolen your quarrel, may he never have good 
I grudge him less ! ” 

“ Nay, but what made he by the church? ” asked 
Sir Oliver. “ I am shrewdly afeared there has 
been mischief here. Clipsby, good fellow, get ye 
down from your horse, and search thoroughly 
among the yews.” 

Clipsby was gone but a little while ere he re- 
turned, carrying a paper. 

“ This writing was pinned to the church ddbr,’* 
he said, handing it to the parson. “ I found naught 
else, sir parson.” 

“.Now, by the power of Mother Church,” cried 
Sir Oliver, “ but this runs hard on sacrilege ! For 
the king’s good pleasure, or the lord of the manor 
— well I But that every run-the-hedge in a green 
jerkin should fasten papers to the chancel door — 
nay, it runs hard on sacrilege, hard ; and men have 
burned for matters of less weight. But what have 
we here? The light falls apace. Good Master 
Richard, y’ have young eyes. Read me, I pray, 
this libel.” 

Dick Shelton took the paper in his hand and read 

z 


i8 THE BLACK ARROW 


it aloud. It contained some lines of very rugged 
doggerel, hardly even rhyming, written in a gross 
character, and most uncouthly spelt. With the 
spelling somewhat bettered, this is how they ran: 

“ I had four blak arrows under my belt, 

Four for the greefs that I have felt, 

Four for the nomber of ill menne 
That have opressid me now and then. 

One is gone ; one is wele sped ; 

Old Apulyaird is ded. 

One is for Maister Bennet Hatch, 

That burned Grimstone, walls and thatch. 

One for Sir Oliver Oates, 

That cut Sir Harry Shelton’s throat. 

Sir Daniel, ye shull have the fourt ; 

We shall think it fair sport. 

• Ye shull each have your own part, 

A blak arrow in each blak heart. 

Get ye to your knees for to pray : 

Ye are ded theeves, by yea and nay ! 

“Jon Amend-All 
of the Green Wood, 

And his jolly fellaweship. 

“ Item, we have mo arrowes and goode hempen cord for 
otheres of your following.” 

“ Now, well-a-day for charity and the Christian 
graces ! cried Sir Oliver, lamentably. “ Sirs, this 
is an ill world, and groweth daily worse. I will 
swear upon the cross of Holywood I am as inno- 
cent of that good knight’s hurt, whether in act or 


THE BLACK ARROW 19 

purpose, as the babe unchristened. Neither was 
his throat cut ; for therein they are again in error, 
as there still live credible witnesses to show.” 

“ It boots not, sir parson,” said Bennet. “ Here 
is unseasonable talk.” 

“ Nay, Master Bennet, not so. Keep ye in your 
due place, good Bennet,” answered the priest. “ I 
shall make mine innocence appear. I will, upon no 
consideration, lose my poor life in error. I take all 
men to witness that I am clear of this matter. I 
was not even in the Moat House. I was sent of 
an errand before nine upon the clock ” 

“ Sir Oliver,” said Hatch, interrupting, “ since 
it please you not to stop this sermon, I will take 
other means. Goffe, sound to horse.” 

And while the tucket was sounding, Bennet 
moved close to the bewildered parson, and whis- 
pered violently in his ear. 

Dick Shelton saw the priest’s eye turned upon 
him for an instant in a startled glance. He had 
some cause for thought; for this Sir Harry Shel- 
ton was his own natural father. But he said never 
a word, and kept his countenance Unmoved. 

Hatch and Sir Oliver discussed together for 
awhile their altered situation ; ten men, it was de- 
cided between them, should be reserved, not only 
to garrison the Moat House, but to escort the priest 
across the wood. In the meantime, as Bennet was 
to remain behind, the command of the reinforce- 
ment was given to Master Shelton. Indeed, there 
was no choice; the men were loutish fellows, dull 
and unskilled in war, while Dick was not only 


20 THE BLACK ARROW 


popular, but resolute and grave beyond his age. 
Although his youth had been spent in these rough, 
country places, the lad had been well taught in 
letters by Sir Oliver, and Hatch himself had shown 
him the management of arms and the first prin- 
ciples of command. Bennet had always been kind 
and helpful; he was one of those who are cruel 
as the grave to those they call their enemies, but 
ruggedly faithful and well willing to their friends ; 
and now, while Sir Oliver entered the next house 
to write, in his swift, exquisite penmanship, a mem- 
orandum of the last occurrences to his master. Sir 
Daniel Brackley, Bennet came up to his pupil to 
wish him God-speed upon his enterprise. 

“ Ye must go the long way about. Master Shel- 
ton," he said; “ round by the bridge, for your life! 
Keep a sure man fift}^ paces afore you, to draw 
shots; and go softly till y’ are past the wood. If 
the rogues fall upon you, ride for h ; ye will do 
naught by standing. And keep ever forward. Mas- 
ter Shelton; turn me not back again, an ye love 
your life; there is no help in Tunstall, mind ye 
that. And now, since ye go to the great wars about 
the king, and I continue to dwell here in e.xtreme 
jeopardy of my life, and the saints alone can cer- 
tify if we shall meet again below, I give you my 
last counsels now at your riding. Keep an eye on 
Sir Daniel ; he is unsure. Put not your trust in 
the jack-priest; he intendeth not amiss, but doth 
the will of others ; it is a hand-gun for Sir Daniel 1 
Get your good lordship where ye go; make you 
strong friends ; look to it. And think ever a pater- 


THE BLACK ARROW 21 


noster-while on Bennet Hatch. There are worse 
rogues afoot than Bennet. So, God-speed ! ” 

“ And Heaven be with you, Bennet ! ” returned 
Dick. “ Ye were a good friend to me-ward, and so 
I shall say ever.” 

“ And, look ye, master,” added Hatch, with a 
certain embarrassment, “ if this Amend-All should 
get a shaft into me, ye might, mayhap, lay out a 
gold mark or mayhap a pound for my poor soul ; 
for it is like to go stiff with me in purgatory.” 

“ Ye shall have your will of it, Bennet,” an- 
swered Dick. “ But, what cheer, man ! we shall 
meet again, where ye shall have more need of ale 
than masses.” 

“ The saints so grant it, Master Dick ! ” returned 
the other. “ But here comes Sir Oliver. An he 
were as quick with the long-bow as with the pen, 
he would be a brave man-at-arms.” 

Sir Oliver gave Dick a sealed packet, with this 
superscription : “ To rny ryght worchypful master. 
Sir Daniel Brackley, knyght, be thys delyvered in 
haste.” 

And Dick, putting it in the bosom of his jacket, 
gave the word and set forth westward up the 
village. 



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BOOK I 


THE TWO LADS 





CHAPTER I 


AT THE SIGN OF THE SUN IN KETTLEY 

S IR DANIEL and his men lay in and about 
Kettley that night, warmly quartered and 
well patrolled. But the Knight of Tunstall 
was one who never rested from money-getting; 
and even now, when he was on the brink of an ad- 
venture which should make or mar him, he was up 
an hour after midnight to squeeze poor neighbours. 
He was one who trafficked greatly in disputed in- 
heritances; it was his way to buy out the most 
unlikely claimant, and then, by the favour he cur- 
ried with great lords about the king, procure unjust 
decisions in his favour; or, if that was too round- 
about, to seize the disputed manor by force of 
arms, and rely on his influence and Sir Oliver’s 
cunning in the law to hold what he had snatched. 
Kettley was one such place; it had come very 
lately into his clutches; he still met with oppo- 
sition from the tenants; and it was to overawe 
discontent that he had led his troops that way. 

By two in the morning. Sir Daniel sat in the inn 
room, close by the fireside, for it was cold at that 
hour among the fens of Kettley. By his elbow 
stood a pottle of spiced ale. He had taken off his 
visored headpiece, and sat with his bald head and 


26 THE BLACK ARROW 


thin, dark visage resting on one hand, wrapped 
warmly in a sanguine-coloured cloak. At the 
lower end of the room about a dozen of his men 
stood sentry over the door or lay asleep on benches ; 
and somewhat nearer hand, a young lad, appar- 
ently of twelve or thirteen, was stretched in a 
mantle on the floor. The host of the Sun stood 
before the great man. 

“ Now, mark me, mine host,” Sir Daniel said, 

follow but mine orders, and I shall be your good 
lord ever. I must have good men for head bor- 
oughs, and I will have Adam-a-More high con- 
stable; see to it narrowly. If other men be chosen, 
it shall avail you nothing; rather it shall be found 
to your sore cost. For those that have paid rent 
to Walsingham I shall take good measure — you 
among the rest, mine host.” 

“ Good knight,” said the host, “ I will swear 
upon the cross of Holy wood I did but pay to Wal- 
singham upon compulsion. Nay, bully knight, I 
love not the rogue Walsinghams; they were as 
poor as thieves, bully knight. Give me a great lord 
like you. Nay; ask me among the neighbours, I 
am stout for Brackley.” 

“ It may be,” said Sir Daniel, drily. “Ye shall 
then pay twice.” 

The innkeeper made a horrid grimace; but this 
was a piece of bad luck that might readily befall a 
tenant in these unruly times, and he was perhaps 
glad to make his peace so easily. 

“ Bring up yon fellow, Selden ! ” cried the 
knight. 


THE BLACK ARROW 27 

And one of his retainers led up a poor, cringing 
old man, as pale as a candle, and all shaking with 
the fen fever. 

“Sirrah,” said Sir Daniel, “your name?” 

“ An 't please your worship,” replied the man, 
“ my name is Condall — Condall of Shoreby, at 
your good worship’s pleasure.” 

“ I have heard you ill reported on,” returned the 
knight. “Ye deal in treason, rogue; ye trudge 
the country leasing; y’ are heavily suspicioned of 
the death of severals. How, fellow, are ye so bold ? 
But I will bring you down.” 

“ Right honourable and my reverend lord,” the 
man cried, “ here is some hodge-podge, saving 
your good presence. I am but a poor private man, 
and have hurt none.” 

“ The under-sheriff did report of you most 
vilely,” said the knight. “ ‘ Seize me,’ saith he, 
‘ that Tyndal of Shoreby.’ ” 

“ Condall, my good lord ; Condall is my poor 
name,” said the unfortunate. 

“ Condall or Tyndal, it is all one,” replied Sir 
Daniel, coolly. “ For, by my sooth, y’ are here, 
and I do mightily suspect your honesty. If ye 
would save your neck, write me swiftly an obliga- 
tion for twenty pound.” 

“ For twenty pound, my good lord ! ” cried Con- 
dall. “ Here is midsummer madness ! My whole 
estate amounteth not to seventy shillings.” 

“ Condall or Tyndal,” returned Sir Daniel, grin- 
ning, “ I will run my peril of that loss. Write me 
down twenty, and when I have recovered all I may. 


28 THE BLACK ARROW 


I will be gcx)d lord to you, and pardon you the 
rest.” 

“ Alas ! my good lord, it may not be ; I have no 
skill to write,” said Condall. 

“ Well-a-day ! ” returned the knight. “Here, 
then, is no remedy. Yet I would fain have spared 
you, Tyndal, had my conscience suffered. Selden, 
take me this old shrew softly to the nearest elm, 
and hang me him tenderly by the neck, where I 
may see him at my riding. Fare ye well, good 
Master Condall, dear Master Tyndal ; y’ are post- 
haste for Paradise ; fare ye then well ! ” 

“ Nay, my right pleasant lord,” replied Condall, 
forcing an obsequious smile, “ an ye be so master- 
ful, as doth right well become you, I will even, with 
all my poor skill, do your good bidding.” 

“ Friend,” quoth Sir Daniel, “ ye will now write 
two-score. Go to! y’ are too cunning for a live- 
lihood of seventy shillings. Selden, see him write 
me this in good form, and have it duly witnessed.” 

And Sir Daniel, who was a very merry knight, 
none merrier in England, took a drink of his mulled 
ale, and lay back, smiling. 

Meanwhile, the boy upon the floor began to stir, 
and presently sat up and looked about him with a 
scare. 

“ Hither,” said Sir Daniel ; and as the other rose 
at his command and came slowly towards him, 
he leaned back and laughed outright. “ By the 
rood ! ” he cried, “ a sturdy boy! ” 

The lad flushed crimson with anger, and darted 
a look of hate out of his dark eyes. Now that he 


THE BLACK ARROW 


29 


was on his legs, it was more difficult to make cer- 
tain of his age. His face looked somewhat older 
in expression, but it was as smooth as a young 
child’s; and in bone and body he was unusually 
slender, and somewhat awkward of gait. 

“ Ye have called me. Sir Daniel,” he said. 
“ Was it to laugh at my poor plight? ” 

“ Nay, now, let laugh,” said the knight. “ Good 
shrew, let laugh, I pray you. An ye could see your- 
self, I warrant ye would laugh the first.” 

“ Well,” cried the lad, flushing, “ ye shall an- 
swer this when ye answer for the other. Laugh 
while yet ye may ! ” 

“ Nay, now, good cousin,” replied Sir Daniel, 
with some earnestness, “ think not that I mock at 
you, except in mirth, as between kinsfolk and sin- 
gular friends. I will make you a marriage of a 
thousand pounds, go to! and cherish you exceed- 
ingly. I took you, indeed, roughly, as the time 
demanded ; but from henceforth I shall ungrudg- 
ingly maintain and cheerfully serve you. Ye shall 
be Airs. Shelton — Lady Shelton, by my troth I 
for the lad promiseth bravely. Tut! ye will not 
shy for honest laughter; it purgeth melancholy. 
They are no rogues who laugh, good cousin. Good 
mine host, lay me a meal now for my cousin, Alas- 
ter John. Sit ye down, sweetheart, and eat.” 

“ Nay,” said Alaster John, “ I will break no 
bread. Since ye force me to this sin, I will fast for 
my soul’s interest. But, good mine host, I pray 
you of courtesy give me a cup of fair water; I 
shall be much beholden to your courtesy indeed.” 


30 THE BLACK ARROW 

“ Ye shall have a dispensation, go to! ” cried the 
knight. “ Shalt be well shriven, by my faith ! 
Content you, then, and eat.” 

But the lad was obstinate, drank a cup of water, 
and, once more wrapping himself closely in his 
mantle, sat in a far corner, brooding. 

In an hour or two, there rose a stir in the vil- 
lage of sentries challenging and the clatter of arms 
and horses; and then a troop drew up by the inn 
door, and Richard Shelton, splashed with mud, 
presented himself upon the threshold. 

“ Save you. Sir Daniel,” he said. 

“ How 1 Dickie Shelton ! ” cried the knight ; and 
at the mention of Dick’s name the other lad looked 
curiously across. “ What maketh Bennet Hatch ? ” 

“ Please you, sir knight, to take cognisance of 
this packet from Sir Oliver, wherein are all things 
fully stated,” answered Richard, presenting the 
priest’s letter. “ And please you farther, ye were 
best make all speed to Risingham ; for on the way 
hither we encountered one riding furiously with 
letters, and by his report, my Lord of Risingham 
was sore bested, and lacked exceedingly your 
presence.” 

“ How say you ? Sore bested ? ” returned the 
knight. “ Nay, then, we will make speed sitting 
down, good Richard. As the world goes in this 
poor realm of England, he that rides softliest rides 
surest. Delay, they say, begetteth peril ; but it is 
rather this itch of doing that undoes men ; mark it, 
Dick. But let me see, first, what cattle ye have 
brought. Selden, a link here at the door ! ” 


THE BLACK ARROW 31 

And Sir Daniel strode forth into the village 
street, and, by the red glow of a torch, inspected 
his new troops. He was an unpopular neighbour 
and an unpopular master; but as a leader in war 
he was well beloved by those who rode behind his 
pennant. His dash, his proved courage, his fore- 
thought for the soldiers’ comfort, even his rough 
gibes, were all to the taste of the bold blades in jack 
and salet. 

“ Nay, by the rood ! ” he cried, “ what poor dogs 
are these ? Here be some as crooked as a bow, and 
some as lean as a spear. Friends, ye shall ride in 
the front of the battle; I can spare you, friends. 
Mark me this old villain on the piebald! A two- 
year mutton riding on a hog would look more 
soldierly! Ha! Clipsby, are ye there, old rat? 
Y’ are a man I could lose with a good heart; ye 
shall go in front of all, with a bull’s eye painted 
on your jack, to be the better butt for archery; 
sirrah, ye shall show me the way.” 

“ I will show you any way, Sir Daniel, but the 
way to change sides,” returned Clipsby, sturdily. 

Sir Daniel laughed a guffaw. 

“ Why, well said ! ” he cried. “ Hast a shrewd 
tongue in thy mouth, go to ! I will forgive you for 
that merry word. Selden, see them fed, both man 
and brute.” 

The knight re-entered the inn. 

“ Now, friend Dick,” he said, “ fall to. Here ' 
is good ale and bacon. Eat, while that I read.” 

Sir Daniel opened the packet, and as he read 
his brow darkened. When he had done he sat a 


32 THE BLACK ARROW 

little, musing. Then he looked sharply at his 
ward 

“ Dick,” said he, “ y’ have seen this penny 
rhyme ? ” 

The lad replied in the affirmative. 

“ It bears your father’s name,” continued the 
knight ; “ and our poor shrew of a parson is, by 
some mad soul, accused of slaying him.” 

“ He did most eagerly deny it,” answered Dick. 

“ He did ? ” cried the knight, very sharply. 
“ Heed him not. He has a loose tongue ; he 
babbles like a jack-sparrow. Some day, when I 
may find the leisure, Dick, I will myself more fully 
inform you of these matters. There was one Duck- 
worth shrewdly blamed for it; but the times were 
troubled, and there was no justice to be got.” 

“ It befell at the Moat House ? ” Dick ventured, 
with a beating at his heart. 

“ It befell between the Moat House and Holy- 
wood,” replied Sir Daniel, calmly; but he shot a 
covert glance, black with suspicion, at Dick’s face. 
“ And now,” added the knight, “ speed you with 
your meal ; ye shall return to Tunstall with a line 
from me.” 

Dick’s face fell sorely. 

“ Prithee, Sir Daniel,” he cried, “ send one of 
the villains ! I beseech you let me to the battle. I 
can strike a stroke, I promise you.” 

“ I misdoubt it not,” replied Sir Daniel, sitting 
down to write. “ But here, Dick, is no honour to 
be won. I lie in Kettley till I have sure tidings of 
the war, and then ride to join me with the con- 


THE BLACK ARROW 33 

qiieror. Cry not on cowardice; it is but wisdom, 
Dick ; for this poor realm so tosseth with rebellion, 
and the king’s name and custody so changeth 
hands, that no man may be certain of the morrow. 
Toss-pot and Shuttle-wit run in, but my Lord 
Good-Counsel sits o’ one side, waiting.” 

With that. Sir Daniel, turning his back to Dick, 
and quite at the farther end of the long table, began 
to write his letter, with his mouth on one side, for 
this business of the Black Arrow stuck sorely in his 
tnroat. 

Meanwhile, young Shelton was going on heartily 
enough with his breakfast, when he felt a touch 
upon his arm, and a very soft voice whispering in 
his ear. 

“ Make not a sign, I do beseech you,” said the 
voice, “ but of your charity tell me the straight way 
to Holywood. Beseech you, now, good boy, com- 
fort a poor soul in peril and extreme distress, and 
set me so far forth upon the way to my repose.” 

“ Take the path by the windmill,” answered 
Dick, in the same tone; “ it will bring you to Till 
Ferry; there inquire again.” 

And without turning his head, he fell again to 
eating. But with the tail of his eye he caught a 
glimpse of the young lad called Master John 
stealthily creeping from the room. 

“ Why,” thought Dick, “ he is as young as I. 
‘ Good boy ’ doth he call me ? An I had known, 
I should have seen the varlet hanged ere I had told 
him. Well, if he goes through the fen, I may come 
up with him and pull his ears.” 

3 


34 THE BLACK ARROW - 

Half an hour later, Sir Daniel gave Dick the 
letter, and bade him speed to the Moat House. 
And, again, some half an hour after Dick’s depart- 
ure, a messenger came, in hot haste, from my Lord 
of Risingham. 

“ Sir Daniel,” the messenger said, “ ye lose 
great honour, by my sooth ! The fight began again 
this morning ere the dawn, and we have beaten 
their van and scattered their right wing. Only the 
main battle standeth fast. An we had your fresh 
men, we should tilt you them all into the river. 
What, sir knight! Will ye be the last? It stands 
not with your good credit,” 

“ Nay,” cried the knight, “ I was but now upon 
the march. Selden, sound me the tucket. Sir, I am 
with you on the instant. It is not two hours since 
the more part of my command came in, sir mes- 
senger. What would ye have? Spurring is good 
mf.at, but yet it killed the charger. Bustle, boys! ” 

By this time the tucket was sounding cheerily in 
the morning, and from all sides Sir Daniel’s men 
poured into the main street and formed before 
the inn. They had slept upon their arms, with 
chargers saddled, and in ten minutes five-score 
men-at-arms and archers, cleanly equipped and 
briskly disciplined, stood ranked and ready. The 
chief part were in Sir Daniel’s livery, murrey and 
blue, which gave the greater show to their array. 
The best armed rode first ; and away out of sight, 
at the tail of the column, came the sorry rein- 
forcement of the night before. Sir Daniel looked 
with pride along the line. 


THE BLACK ARROW 35 

“ Here be the lads to serve you in a pinch/’ he 
said. 

“ They are pretty men, indeed,” replied the mes- 
senger. “ It but augments my sorrow that ye had 
not marched the earlier.” 

“ Well,” said the knight, “ what would ye? The 
beginning of a feast and the end of a fray, sir mes- 
senger ” ; and he mounted into his saddle. “ Why ! 
how now!” he cried. “John! Joanna! Nay, by 
the sacred rood ! where is she ? Host, where is 
that girl ? ” 

“ Girl, Sir Daniel? ” cried the landlord. “ Nay, 
sir, I saw no girl.” 

“ Boy, then, dotard ! ” cried the knight. “ Could 
5^e not see it was a wench? She in the murrey- 
coloured mantle — she that broke her fast with 
water, rogue — where is she ? ” 

“Nay, the saints bless us! Master John, ye 
called him,” said the host. “ Well, I thought none 
evil. He is gone. I saw him — her — I saw her 
in the stable a good hour agone ; ’a was saddling a 
grey horse.” 

“ Now, by the rood ! ” cried Sir Daniel, “ the 
wench was worth five hundred pound to me and 
more.” 

“ Sir knight,” observed the messenger, with 
bitterness, “ while that ye are here, roaring for 
five hundred pounds, the realm of England is else- 
where being lost and won.” 

“ It is well said,” replied Sir Daniel. “ Selden, 
fall me out with six cross-bowmen; hunt me her 
down. I care not what it cost ; but, at my return- 


j6 THE BLACK ARROW 

ing, let me find her at the Moat House. Be it 
upon your head. And now, sir messenger, we 
march.” 

And the troop broke into a good trot, and Selden 
and his six men were left behind upon the street 
of Kettley, with the staring villagers. 


CHAPTER II 

IN THE FEN 

I T was near six in the May morning when Dick 
began to ride down into the fen upon his 
homeward way. The sky was all blue; the 
jolly wind blew loud and steady; the windmill 
sails were spinning; and the willows over all the 
fen rippling and whitening like a field of corn. He 
had been all night in the saddle, but his heart was 
good and his body sound, and he rode right merrily. 

The path went down and dov^n into the marsh, 
till he lost sight of all the neighbouring landmarks 
hut Kettley windmill on the knoll behind him, and 
the extreme top of Tunstall Forest far before. On 
either hand there were great fields of blowing reeds 
and willows, pools of water shaking in the wind, and 
treacherous bogs, as green as emerald, to tempt 
and to betray the traveller. The path lay almost 
straight through the morass. It was already very 
ancient ; its foundation had been laid by Roman 
soldiery; in the lapse of ages much of it had sunk, 
and every here and there, for a few hundred yards, 
it lay submerged below the stagnant waters of the 
fen. 

About a mile from Kettley, Dick came to one such 
break in the plain line of causeway, where the reeds 


38 THE BLACK ARROW 

and willows grew dispersedly like little islands and 
confused the eye. The gap, besides, was more than 
usually long; it was a place where any stranger 
might come readily to mischief ; and Dick be- 
thought him, with something like a pang, of the lad 
whom he had so imperfectly directed. As for him- 
self, one look backward to where the windmill sails 
were turning black against the blue of heaven — 
one look forward to the high ground of Tunstall 
Forest, and he was suflficiently directed and held 
straight on, the water washing to his horse’s knees, 
as safe as on a highway. 

Half-way across, and when he had already 
sighted the path rising high and dry upon the 
farther side, he was aware of a great splashing 
on his right, and saw a grey horse, sunk to its belly 
in the mud, and still spasmodically struggling. 
Instantly, as though it had divined the neighbour- 
hood of help, the poor beast began to neigh most 
piercingly. It rolled, meanwhile, a bloodshot eye, 
insane with terror; and as it sprawled wallowing 
in the quag, clouds of stinging insects rose and 
buzzed about it in the air. 

“ Alack! ” thought Dick, “ can the poor lad have 
perished ? There is his horse, for certain — a brave 
grey! Nay, comrade, if thou criest to me so pite- 
ously. I will do all man can to help thee. Shalt 
not lie there to drown by inches ! ” 

And he made ready his cross-bow, and put a 
quarrel through the creature’s head. 

Dick rode on after this act of rugged mercy, 
somewhat sobered in spirit, and looking closely 


THE BLACK ARROW 39 

about him for any sign of his less happy prede- 
cessor in the way. 

“ I would I had dared to tell him further,” he 
thought ; “ for I fear he has miscarried in the 
slough.” 

And just as he was so thinking, a voice cried 
upon his name from the causeway-side, and, look- 
ing over his shoulder, he saw the lad’s face peering 
from a clump of reeds. 

“ Are ye there? ” he said, reining in. “ Ye lay 
so close among the reeds that I had passed you by. 
I saw your horse bemired, and put him from his 
agony ; which, by my sooth ! an ye had been a 
more merciful rider, ye had done yourself. But 
come forth out of your hiding. Here be none to 
trouble you.” 

“ Nay, good boy, I have no arms, nor skill to 
use them if I had,” replied the other, stepping forth 
upon the pathway. 

“ Why call me ‘ boy ’ ? ” cried Dick. “ Y’ are 
not, I trow, the elder of us twain.” 

“ Good Master Shelton,” said the other, “ prithee 
forgive me. I have none the least intention to 
offend. Rather I would in every way beseech 
your gentleness and favour, for I am now worse 
bested than ever, having lost my way, my cloak, 
and my poor horse. To have a riding-rod and 
spurs, and never a horse to sit upon ! And 
before all,” he added, looking ruefully upon 
his clothes — “ before all, to be so sorrily be- 
smirched ! ” 

“ Tut! ” cried Dick. “ Would ye mind a duck- 


40 THE BLACK ARROW 

ing ? Blood of wound or dust of travel — that "s 
a man’s adornment,” 

“ Nay, then, I like him better plain,” observed 
the lad. “ But, prithee, how shall I do? Prithee, 
good Master Richard, help me with your good 
counsel. If I come not safe to Holy wood, I am 
undone.” 

“ Nay,” said Dick, dismounting, “ I will give 
more than counsel. Take my horse, and I will 
run awhile, and when I am weary we shall change 
again, that so, riding and running, both may go 
the speedier.” 

So the change was made, and they went forward 
as briskly as they durst on the uneven causeway, 
Dick with his hand- upon the other’s knee. 

“ How call ye your name? ” asked Dick. 

“ Call me John Matcham,” replied the lad. 

“ And what make ye to Holywood ? ” Dick 
continued. 

“ I seek sanctuary from a man that would op- 
press me,” was the answer. “ The good Abbot of 
Holywood is a strong pillar to the weak.” 

“ And how came ye with Sir Daniel, Master 
Matcham?” pursued Dick. 

“ Nay,” cried the other, “ by the abuse of force! 
He hath taken me by violence from my own 
place; dressed me in these weeds; ridden with 
me till my heart was sick ; gibed me till I could ’a’ 
wept; and when certain of my friends pursued, 
thinking to have me back, claps me in the rear 
to stand their shot! I was even grazed in the 
right foot, and walk but lamely. Nay, there 


THE BLACK ARROW 41 

shall come a day between ns; he shall smart for 
all ! ” 

“ Would ye shoot at the moon with a hand- 
gun?” said Dick. “ ’T is a valiant knight, and 
hath a hand of iron. An he guessed I had made 
or meddled with your flight, it would go sore with 
me.” 

“ Ay, poor l^py,” returned the other, “ y’ are his 
ward, I know it. By the same token, so am I, or 
so he saith ; or else he hath bought my marriage — 
I wot not rightly which; but it is some handle to 
oppress me by.” 

“ Boy again ! ” said Dick. 

“ Nay, then, shall I call you girl, good Rich- 
ard? ” asked Matcham. 

“ Never a girl for me,” returned Dick. “ I do 
abjure the crew of them! ” 

“ Ye speak boyishly,” said the other. “ Ye think 
more of them than ye pretend.” 

“ Not I,” said Dick, stoutly. “ They come not 
in my mind. A plague of them, say 1 1 Give me 
to hunt and to fight and to feast, and to live with 
jolly foresters. I never heard of a maid yet that 
was for any service, save one only; and she, poor 
shrew, was burned for a witch and the wearing of 
men’s clothes in spite of nature.” 

jMaster Matcham crossed himself with fervour, 
and appeared to pray. 

“What make ye?” Dick inquired. 

“ I pray for her spirit,” answered the other, with 
a somewhat troubled voice. 

“ For a witch’s spirit ? ” Dick cried. “ But pray 


42 THE BLACK ARROW 

for her, an ye list; she was the best wench in 
Europe, was this Joan of Arc. Old Appleyard 
the archer ran from her, he said, as if she had been 
Mahoun. Nay, she was a brave wench.” 

“ Well, but, good Master Richard,” resumed 
Matcham, “ an ye like maids so little, y’ are no 
true natural man; for God made them twain by 
intention, and brought true love inta^the world, to 
be man’s hope and woman’s comfort.” 

“ Faugh ! ” said Dick. “ Y’ are a milk-sopping 
baby, so to harp on women. An ye think I be no 
true man, get down upon the path, and whether at 
fists, backsword, or bow and arrow, I will prove 
my manhood on your body.” 

“ Nay, I am no fighter,” said Matcham, eagerly, 
“ I mean no tittle of offence. I meant but pleas- 
antry. And if I talk of women, it is because I 
heard ye were to marry.” 

“ I to marry ! ” Dick exclaimed. “ Well, it is 
the first I hear of it. And with whom was I to 
marry?” 

“ One Joan Sedley,” replied Matcham, colour- 
ing. “ It was Sir Daniel’s doing ; he hath money 
to gain upon both sides; and, indeed, I have heard 
the poor wench bemoaning herself pitifully of the 
match. It seems she is of your mind, or else dis- 
tasted to the bridegroom.” 

“ Well ! marriage is like death, it comes to all,” 
said Dick, with resignation. “ And she bemoaned 
herself? I pray ye now, see there how shuttle- 
witted are these girls: to bemoan herself before 
that she had seen me ! Do I bemoan myself ? Not 


THE BLACK ARROW 


43 


I. An I be to marry, I will marry dry-eyed ! But 
if ye know her, prithee, of what favour is she? fair 
or foul? And is she shrewish or pleasant? ” 

“ Nay, what matters it? ” said Matcham. “ An 
y’ are to marry, ye can but marry. What matters 
foul or fair? These be but toys. Y’ are no milk- 
sop, Master Richard; ye will wed with dry eyes, 
anyhow.” 

“ It is well said,” replied Shelton. “ Little I 
reck.” 

“ Your lady wife is like to have a pleasant lord,” 
said Matcham. 

“ She shall have the lord Heaven made her for,” 
returned Dick. “ I trow there be worse as well as 
better.” 

“ Ah, the poor wench ! ” cried the other. 

“ And why so poor? ” asked Dick. 

“ To wed a man of wood,” replied his com- 
panion. “ O me, for a wooden husband ! ” 

“ I think I be a man of wood, indeed,” said Dick, 
“ to trudge afoot the while you ride my horse; but 
it is good wood, I trow.” 

“ Good Dick, forgive me,” cried the ' other. 
“ Nay, y’ are the best heart in England ; I but 
laughed. Forgive me now, sweet Dick.” 

“ Nay, no fool words,” returned Dick, a little 
embarrassed by his companion’s warmth. “ No 
harm is done. I am not touchy, praise the saints.” 

And at that moment the wind, which was blow- 
ing straight behind them as they went, brought 
them the rough flourish of Sir Daniel’s trumpeter. 

“ Hark ! ” said Dick, “ the tucket soundeth.” 


44 


THE BLACK ARROW 


“ Ay,” said Matcham, “ they have found my 
flight, and now I am unhorsed ! ” and he became 
pale as death. 

“ Nay, what cheer ! ” returned Dick. “ Y’ have 
a long start, and we are near the ferry. And it is 
I, methinks, that am unhorsed.” 

“ Alack, I shall be taken ! ” cried the fugitive. 
“ Dick, kind Dick, beseech ye help me but a little ! ” 

“ Why, now, what aileth thee ? ” said Dick. 
“ Methinks I help you very patently. But my 
heart is sorry for so spiritless a fellow! And see 
ye here, John Matcham — sith John Matcham is 
your name — I, Richard Shelton, tide what be- 
tideth, come what may, will see you safe in Holy- 
wood. The saints so do to me again if I default 
you. Come, pick me up a good heart. Sir White- 
face. The way betters here; spur me the horse. 
Go faster! faster! Nay, mind not for me; I can 
run like a deer.” 

So, with the horse trotting hard, and Dick run- 
ning easily alongside, they crossed the remainder 
of the fen, and came out upon the banks of the 
river by the ferryman’s hut. 


CHAPTER III 


THE FEN FERRY 

T he river Till was a wide, sluggish, clayey 
water, oozing out of fens, and in this part 
of its course it strained among some score 
of willow-covered, marshy islets. 

It was a dingy stream; but upon this bright, 
spirited morning everything was become beautiful. 
The wind and the martens broke it up into innumer- 
able dimples; and the reflection of the sky was 
scattered over all the surface in crumbs of smiling 
blue. 

A creek ran up to meet the path, and close under 
the bank the ferryman's hut lay snugly. It was, of 
wattle and clay, and the grass grew green upon the 
roof. 

Dick went to the door and opened it. Within, 
upon a foul old russet cloak, the ferryman lay 
stretched and shivering; a great hulk of a man, 
but lean and shaken by the country fever. 

“ Hey, Master Shelton,” he said, “ be ye for 
the ferry? Ill times, ill times! Look to your- 
self. There is a fellowship abroad. Ye were 
better turn round on your two heels and try the 
bridge.” 


46 THE BLACK ARROW 

“Nay; time’s in the saddle,” answered Dick. 
“ Time will ride, Hugh Ferryman. I am hot in 
haste.” 

A wilful man! ” returned the ferryman, rising. 
“ An ye win safe to the Moat House, y’ have done 
lucky; but I say no more.” And then catching 
sight of Matcham, “Who be this?” he asked, 
as he paused, blinking, on the threshold of his 
cabin. 

“ It is my kinsman, Master Matcham,” answered 
Dick. 

“ Give ye good day, good ferryman,” said 
Matcham, who had dismounted, and now came for- 
ward, leading the horse. “ Launch me your boat, 
I prithee; we are sore in haste.” 

The gaunt ferryman continued staring. 

“ By the mass I ” he cried at length, and laughed 
with open throat. 

Matcham coloured to his neck and winced ; and 
Dick, with an angry countenance, put his hand on 
the lout’s shoulder. 

“ How now, churl ! ” he cried. “ Fall to thy 
business, and leave mocking thy betters.” 

Hugh Ferryman grumblingly undid his boat, 
and shoved it a little forth into the deep water. 
Then Dick led in the horse, and Matcham followed. 

“ Ye be mortal small made, master,” said Hugh, 
with a wide grin ; “ something o’ the wrong model, 
belike. Nay, Master Shelton, I am for you,” he 
added, getting to his oars. “ A cat may look at a 
king. I did but take a shot of the eye at Master 
Matcham.” 


THE. BLACK ARROW 47 

“ Sirrah, no more words,” said Dick. “ Bend 
me your back.” 

They were by that time at the mouth of the creek, 
and the view opened up and down the river. 
Everywhere it was enclosed with islands. Clay 
banks were falling in, willows nodding, reeds wav- 
ing, martens dipping and piping. There was no 
sign of man in the labyrinth of waters. 

“ My master,” said the ferryman, keeping the 
boat steady with one oar, “ I have a shrew guess 
that John-a-Fenne is on the island. He bears me 
a black grudge to all Sir Daniel’s. How if I 
turned me up stream and landed you an arrow- 
flight above the path? Ye were best not meddle 
with John Fenne.” ^ 

“ How, then ? is he of this company ? ” asked 
Dick. 

“ Nay, mum is the word,” said Hugh. “ But 
I would go up water, Dick. How if Master 
Matcham came by an arrow ? ” and he laughed 
again. 

“ Be it so, Hugh,” answered Dick. 

“ Look ye, then,” pursued Hugh. “ Sith it shall 
so be, unsling me your cross-bow — so : now make 
it ready — good ; place me a quarrel. Ay, keep it 
so, and look upon me grimly.” 

“ What meaneth this ? ” asked Dick. 

“ Why, my master, if I steal you across, it must 
be under force or fear,” replied the ferryman ; “ for 
else, if John Fenne got wind of it, he were like to 
prove my most distressful neighbour.” 

“Do these churls ride so roughly?” Dick in- 


48 THE BLACK ARROW 

quired. “ Do they command Sir Daniel’s own 
ferry ? ” 

“ Nay,” whispered the ferryman, winking. 
“ Mark me ! Sir Daniel shall down. His time 
is out. He shall down. Mum ! ” And he bent 
over his oars. 

They pulled a long way up the river, turned the 
tail of an island, and came softly down a narrow 
channel next the opposite bank. Then Hugh held 
water in mid-stream. 

“ I must land you here among the willows,” he 
said. 

“ Here is no path but willow swamps and quag- 
mires,” answered Dick. 

“ Master Shelton,” replied Hugh, “ I dare not 
take ye nearer down, for your own sake now. He 
watcheth me the ferry, lying on his bow. All that 
go by and owe Sir Daniel good-will, he shooteth 
down like rabbits. I heard him swear it by the 
rood. An I had not known you of old days — ay, 
and from so high upward — I would ’a’ let you go 
on; but for old days’ remembrance, and because 
ye had this toy with you that ’s not fit for wounds 
or warfare, I did risk my two poor ears to have 
you over whole. Content you; I can no more, 
on my salvation ! ” 

Hugh was still speaking, lying on his oars, 
when there came a great shout from among the 
willows on the island, and sounds followed as of 
a strong man breasting roughly through the wood. 

“ A murrain ! ” cried Hugh. “ He was on the 
upper island all the while!” He pulled straight 


THE BLACK ARROW 


49 


for shore. “ Threat me with your bow, good 
Dick ; threat me with it plain,” he added. “ I have 
tried to save your skins, save you mine ! ” 

The boat ran into a tough thicket of willows with 
a crash. Matcham, pale, but steady and alert, at 
a sign from Dick, ran along the thwarts and leaped 
ashore ; Dick, taking the horse by the bridle, sought 
to follow, but what with the animal’s bulk, and 
what with the closeness of the thicket, both stuck 
fast. The horse neighed and trampled; and the 
boat, which was swinging in an eddy, came on and 
off and pitched with violence. 

“ It may not be, Hugh ; here is no landing,” 
cried Dick; but he still struggled valiantly with 
the obstinate thicket and the startled animal. 

A tall man appeared upon the shore of the island, 
a long-bow in his hand. Dick saw him for an 
instant, with the corner of his eye, bending the 
bow with a great effort, his face crimson with 
hurry. 

“ Who goes ? ” he shouted. “ Hugh, who 
goes ? ” 

“ ’T is Master Shelton, John,” replied the ferry- 
man. 

“ Stand, Dick Shelton ! ” bawled the man upon 
the island. “Ye shall have no hurt, upon the rood 1 
Stand! Back out, Hugh Ferryman.” 

Dick cried a taunting answer. 

“ Nay, then, ye shall go afoot,” returned the 
man; and he let drive an arrow. 

The horse, struck by the shaft, lashed out in 
agony and terror; the boat capsized, and the next 
4 


50 THE BLACK ARROW 

moment all were struggling in the eddies of the 
river. 

When Dick came up, he was within a yard of the 
bank ; and before his eyes were clear, his hand had 
closed on something firm and strong that instantly 
began to drag him forward. It was the riding-rod, 
that Matcham, crawling forth upon an overhanging 
willow, had opportunely thrust into his grasp. 

“ By the mass ! ” cried Dick, as he was helped 
ashore, “ that makes a life I owe you. I swim like 
a cannon-ball.” And he turned instantly towards 
the island. 

Midway over, Hugh Ferryman was swimming 
with his upturned boat, while John-a-Fenne, furi- 
ous at the ill-fortune of his shot, bawled to him to 
hurry. 

“Come, Jack,” said Shelton, “run for it! Ere 
Hugh can hale his barge across, or the pair of ’em 
can get it righted, we may be out of cry.” 

And adding example to his words, he began to 
run, dodging among the willows, and in marshy 
places leaping from tussock to tussock. He had no 
time to look for his direction ; all he could do was 
to turn his back upon the river, and put all his 
heart to running. 

Presently, however, the ground began to rise, 
which showed him he was still in the right way, 
and soon after they came forth upon a slope of 
solid turf, where elms began to mingle with the 
willows. 

But here Matcham, who had been dragging far 
into the rear, threw himself fairly down. 


THE BLACK ARROW 


51 

“ Leave me, Dick! ” he cried, pantingly; “ I can 
no more.” 

Dick turned, and came back to where his com- 
panion lay. 

“ Nay, Jack, leave thee! ” he cried. “ That were 
a knave’s trick, to be sure, when ye risked a shot 
and a ducking, ay, and a drowning too, to save 
! my life. Drowning, in sooth ; for why I did not 
i pull you in along with me, the saints alone can 
; tell ! ” 

I “ Nay,” said Matcham, “ I would ’a’ saved us 
I both, good Dick, for I can swim.” 

“Can ye so?” cried Dick, with open eyes-. It 
was the one manly accomplishment of which he 
was himself incapable. In the order of the things 
that he admired, next to having killed a man in 
single fight came swimming. “ Well,” he said, 
“ here is a lesson to despise no man. I promised 
to care for you as far as Holywood, and, by the 
rood. Jack, y are more capable to care for me.” 

“ Well, Dick, we’re friends now,” said Matcham. 

“ Nay, I never was unfriends,” answered Dick. 
“ Y’ are a brave lad in your way, albeit something 
of a milksop, too. I never met your like before 
this day. But, prithee, fetch back your breath, and 
let us on. Here is no place for chatter.” 

“ My foot hurts shrewdly,” said Matcham. 

“ Nay, I had forgot your foot,” returned Dick. 
“ Well, we must go the gentlier. I would I knew 
rightly where we were. I have clean lost the path ; 
yet that may be for the better, too. An they watch 
the ferry, they watch the path, belike, as well. I 


52 THE BLACK ARROW 

would Sir Daniel were back with two-score men; 
he would sweep me these rascals as the wind sweeps 
leaves. Come, Jack, lean ye on my shoulder, ye 
poor shrew. Nay, y’ are not tall enough. What 
age are ye, for a wager ? — twelve ? ” 

“ Nay, I am sixteen,” said Matcham. 

“ Y’ are poorly grown to height, then,” answered 
Dick. “ But take my hand. We shall go softly, 
never fear. I owe you a life; I am a good re- 
payer, Jack, of good or evil.” 

They began to go forward up the slope. 

“ We must hit the road, early or late,” continuer. 
Dick-; ” and then for a fresh start. By the mass! 
but y’ 'ave a rickety hand, Jack. If I had a hand 
like that, I would think shame. I tell you,” he 
went on, with a sudden chuckle, “ I swear by the 
mass I believe Hugh Ferryman took you for a 
maid.” 

“ Nay, never! ” cried the other, colouring high. 

“ A’ did, though, for a wager I ” Dick exclaimed. 
“ Small blame to him. Ye look liker maid than 
man ; and I tell you more — y’ are a strange-look- 
ing rogue for a boy; but for a hussy, Jack, ye 
would be right fair — ye would. Ye would be 
well favoured for a wench.” 

“ Well,” said Mitcham, “ ye know right well 
that I am none.” 

“Nay, I know that; I do but jest,” said Dick. 
“Ye ’ll be a man before your mother. Jack. What 
cheer, my bully? Ye shall strike shrewd strokes. 
Now, which, I marvel, of you or me, shall be first 
knighted. Jack? for knighted Hshall be, or die 


THE BLACK ARROW 53 

[ for ’t. ‘ Sir Richard Shelton, Knight ’ : it soundeth 
bravely. But ‘ Sir John Matcham ’ soundeth not 
amiss.” 

“ Prithee, Dick, stop till I drink,” said the other, 
pausing where a little clear spring welled out of 
: the slope into a gravelled basin no bigger than a 
i pocket. “ And O, Dick, if I might come by any- 
. thing to eat! — my very heart aches with hunger.” 

, “ Why, fool, did ye not eat at Kettley? ” asked 

I Dick. 

i “ I had made a vow — it was a sin I had been 
! led into,” stammered Matcham ; “ but now, if it 
were but dry bread, I would eat it greedily.” 

“ Sit ye, then, and eat,” said Dick, “ while that 
I scout a little forward for the road.” And he 
cook a wallet from his girdle, wherein were bread 
and pieces of dry bacon, and, while Matcham fell 
heartily to, struck farther forth among the trees. 

A little beyond there was a dip in the ground, 
where a streamlet soaked among dead leaves ; and 
beyond that, again, the trees were better grown 
and stood wider, and oak and beach began to take 
the place of willow and elm. The continued toss- 
ing and pouring of the wind among the leaves 
sufficiently concealed the sounds of his footsteps 
on the mast; it was for the ear what a moonless 
night is to the eye: but for all that Dick went 
cautiously, slipping from one big trunk to another, 
and looking sharply about him as he went. Sud- 
denly a doe passed like a shadow through the 
underwood in front of him, and he paused, dis- 
gusted at the chance. This part of the wood had 


54 


THE BLACK ARROW 


been certainly deserted, but now that the poor deer 
had run, she was like a messenger he should have 
sent before him to announce his coming; and in- 
stead of pushing farther, he turned him to the 
nearest well-grown tree, and rapidly began to 
climb. 

Luck had served him well. The oak on which 
he had mounted was one of the tallest in that 
quarter of the wood, and easily out-topped its 
neighbours by a fathom and a half ; and when 
Dick had clambered into the topmost fork and- 
clung there, swinging dizzily in the great wind, he 
saw behind him the whole fenny plain as far as 
Kettley, and the Till wandering among woody 
islets, and in front of him, the white line of high- 
road winding through the forest. The boat had 
been righted — it was even now midway on the 
ferry. Beyond that there was no sign of man, nor 
aught moving but the wind. He was about to 
descend, when, taking a last view, his eye lit upon 
a string of moving points about the middle of 
the fen. Plainly a small troop was threading the 
causeway, and that at a good pace; and this gave 
him some concern as he shinned vigorously down 
the trunk and returned across the wood for his 
companion. 


CHAPTER IV 


A GREENWOOD COMPANY 

M ATCHAM was well rested and revived; 

and the two lads, winged by what Dick 
had seen, hurried through the remainder 
of the outwood, crossed the road in safety, and 
began to mount into the high ground of Tunstall 
Forest. The trees grew more and more in groves, 
with heathy places in between, sandy, gorsy, and 
dotted with old yews. The ground became more 
and more uneven, full of pits and hillocks. And 
with every step of the ascent the wind still blew 
the shriller, and the trees bent before the gusts like 
fishing-rods. 

They had just entered one of the clearings, when 
Dick suddenly clapped down upon his face among 
the brambles, and began to crawl slowly backward 
towards the shelter of the grove. Matcham, in 
great bewilderment, for he could see no reason for 
this flight, still imitated his companion’s course; 
and it was not until they had gained the harbour 
of a thicket that he turned and begged him to 
explain. 

For all reply, Dick pointed with his finger. 

At the far end of the clearing, a fir grew high 
above the neighbouring wood, and planted its black 


56 THE BLACK ARROW 

shock of foliage clear against the sky. For about 
fifty feet above the ground the trunk grew straight 
and solid like a column. At that level, it split into 
two massive boughs ; and in the fork, like a mast- 
headed seaman, there stood a man in a green 
tabard, spying far and wide. The sun glistened 
upon his hair; with one hand he shaded his eyes 
to look abroad, and he kept slowly rolling his 
head from side to side, with the regularity of a 
machine. 

The lads exchanged glances. 

“ Let us try to the left,” said Dick. “ We had 
near fallen foully. Jack.” 

Ten minutes afterwards they struck into a beaten 
path. 

“ Here is a piece of forest that I know not,” 
Dick remarked. “Where goeth me this track?” 

“ Let us even try,” said Matcham. 

A few yards further, the path came to the top 
of a ridge and began to go down abruptly into a 
cup-shaped hollow. At the foot, out of a thick 
wood of flowering hawthorn, two or three roof- 
less gables, blackened as if by fire, and a single 
tall chimney marked the ruins of a house. 

“What may this be?” whispered Matcham. 

“ Nay, by the mass, I know not,” answered Dick. 
“ I am all at sea. Let us go warily.” 

With beating hearts, they descended through the 
hawthorns. Here and there, they passed signs of 
recent cultivation; fruit trees and pot herbs ran 
wild among the thicket; a sun-dial had fallen in 
the grass ; it seemed they were treading what once 


THE BLACK ARROW 57 

had been a garden. Yet a little farther and they 
came forth before the ruins of the house. 

It had been a pleasant mansion and a strong. 
A dry ditch was dug deep about it ; but it was 
now choked with masonry, and bridged by a fallen 
rafter. The two farther walls still stood, the sun 
shining through ’their empty windows; but the 
remainder of the building had collapsed, and now 
lay in a great cairn of ruin, grimed with fire. 
Already in the interior a few plants were springing 
green among the chinks. 

“ Now I bethink me,” whispered Dick, “ this 
must be Grimstone. It was a hold of one 
Simon Malmesbury ; Sir Daniel was his bane ! 
’T was Bennet Hatch that burned it, now five 
years agone. In sooth, ’t was pity, for it was a 
fair house.” 

Down in the hollow, where no wind blew, it was 
both warm and still; and Matcham, laying one 
hand upon Dick’s arm, held up a warning finger. 

“ Hist!” he said. 

Then came a strange sound, breaking on the 
quiet. It was twice repeated ere they recognised 
its nature. It was the sound of a big man clearing 
his throat ; and just then a hoarse, untuneful voice 
broke into singing. 

“ Then up and spake the master, the king of the outlaws : 

‘ What make ye here, my merry men, among the greenwood 
shaws ? ’ 

I And Gamelyn made answer — he looked never adown : 

; ‘O, they must need to walk in wood that may not walk in 
I town ! ’ ” 


58 THE BLACK ARROW 

The singer paused, a faint clink of iron followed, 
and then silence. 

The two lads stood looking at each other. Who- 
ever he might be, their invisible neighbour was just 
beyond the ruin. And suddenly the colour came 
into Matcham’s face, and next moment he had 
crossed the fallen rafter, and \Vas climbing cau- 
tiously on the huge pile of lumber that filled the 
interior of the roofless house. Dick would have 
withheld him, had he been in time; as it was, he 
was fain to follow. 

Right in the corner of the ruin, two rafters had 
fallen crosswise, and protected a clear space no 
larger than a pew in church. Into this the lads 
silently lowered themselves. There they were per- 
fectly concealed, and through an arrow-loophole 
commanded a view upon the farther side. 

Peering through this, they were struck stiff with 
terror at their predicament. To retreat was impos- 
sible ; they scarce dared to breathe. Upon the very 
margin of the ditch, not thirty feet from where they 
crouched, an iron caldron bubbled and steamed 
above a glowing fire ; and close by, in an attitude 
of listening, as though he had caught some sound , 
of their clambering among the ruins, a tall, red- 
faced, battered-looking man stood poised, an iron 
spoon in his right hand, a horn and a formidable 
dagger at his belt. Plainly this was the singer; 
plainly he had been stirring the caldron, when] 
some incautious step among the lumber had fallen^ 
upon his ear. A little further off, another man lay] 
slumbering, rolled in a brown cloak, with a butter-j 


THE BLACK ARROW 


59 


fly hovering above his face. All this was in a 
clearing white with daisies; and at the extreme 
verge, a bow, a sheaf of arrows, and part of a 
deer’s carcase, hung upon a flowering hawthorn. 

Presently the fellow relaxed from his attitude of 
attention, raised the spoon to his mouth, tasted its 
contents, nodded, and then fell again to stirring 
and singing. 

“ ‘ O, they must need to walk in wood that may 
not walk in town,’ ” he croaked, taking up his 
song where he had left it. 

“ O, sir, we walk not here at all an evil thing to do. 

But if we meet with the good king’s deer to shoot a shaft into.’ 

Still as he sang, he took from time to time an- 
other spoonful of the broth, blew upon it, and 
tasted it, with all the airs of an experienced cook. 
At length, apparently, he judged the mess was 
ready; for taking the horn from his girdle, he 
blew three modulated calls. 

The other fellow awoke, rolled over, brushed 
away the butterfly, and looked about him. 

“ How now, brother ? ” he said. “ Dinner ? ” 

“ Ay, sot,” replied the cook, “ dinner it is, and 
a dry dinner, too, with neither ale nor bread. But 
there is little pleasure in the greenwood now ; time 
was when a good fellow could live here like a 
mitred abbot, set aside the rain and the white 
frosts; he had his heart’s desire both of ale and 
wine. But now are men’s spirits dead ; and this 
John Amend- All, save us and guard us! but a 
stuffed booby to scare crows withal.” 


6o THE BLACK ARROW 


“ Nay,” returned the other, “ y’ are too set on 
meat and drinking, Lawless. Bide ye a bit; the 
good time cometh.” 

“ Look ye,” returned the cook, “ I have even 
waited for this good time sith that I was so high. 
I have been a Grey Friar; I have been a king’s 
archer ; I have been a shipman, and sailed the salt 
seas; and I have been in greenwood before this, 
forsooth ! and shot the king’s deer. What cometh 
of it? Naught! I were better to have bided in 
the cloister. John Abbot availeth more than John 
Amend-All. By ’r Lady! here they come.” 

One after another, tall, likely fellows began to 
stroll into the lawn. Each as he came produced 
a knife and a horn cup, helped himself from the 
caldron, and sat down upon the grass to eat. They 
were \ ery variously ecpiipped and armed ; some in 
rusty smocks, and with nothing but a knife and an 
old bow; others in the height of forest gallantry, 
all in Lincoln green, both hood and jerkin, with 
dainty peacock arrows in their belts, a horn 
upon a baldrick, and a sword and dagger at their 
sides. They came in the silence of hunger, and 
scarce growled a salutation, but fell instantly to 
meat. 

There were, perhaps, a score of them already 
gathered, when a sound of suppressed cheering 
arose close by among the hawthorns, and immedi- 
ately after five or six woodmen carrying a stretcher 
debouched upon the lawn. A tall, lusty fellow, 
somewhat grizzled, and as brown as a smoked 
ham, walked before them with an air of some 


THE BLACK ARROW 6i 


authorit}% his bow at his back, a bright boar-spear 
in his hand. 

“ Lads ! ” he cried, “ good fellows all, and my 
right merry friends, y’ have sung this while on a 
dry whistle and lived at little ease. But what said 
I ever? Abide Fortune constantly; she turneth, 
turneth swift. And lo! here is her little firstling 
— even that good creature, ale ! ” 

There was a murmur of applause as the bearers 
set down the stretcher and displayed a goodly cask. 

“ And now haste ye, boys,” the man continued. 
“ There is work toward. A handful of archers 
are but now come to the ferry ; murrey and blue is 
their wear ; they are our butts — they shall all 
taste arrows — no man of them shall struggle 
through this wood. For, lads, we are here some 
fifty strong, each man of us most foully wronged ; 
for some they have lost lands, and some friends ; 
and some they have been outlawed — all op- 
pressed! Who, then, hath done this evil? Sir 
Daniel, by the rood 1 Shall he then profit ? shall 
he sit snug in our houses? shall he till our fields? 
shall he suck the bone he robbed us of? I trow not. 
He getteth him strength at law ; he gaineth cases ; 
nay, there is one case he shall not gain — I have a 
writ here at my belt that, please the saints, shall 
conquer him.” 

Lawless the cook was by this time already at his 
second horn of ale. He raised it, as if to pledge 
the speaker. 

“ Master Ellis,” he said, “ y’ are for vengeance 
— well it becometh you I — but your poor brother 


62 THE BLACK ARROW 


o’ the greenwood, that had never lands to lose nor 
friends to think upon, looketh rather, for his poor 
part, to the profit of the thing. He had liever a 
gold noble and a pottle of canary wine than all the 
vengeances in purgatory.” 

‘‘ Lawless,” replied the other, “ to reach the 
Moat House, Sir Daniel must pass the forest. We 
shall make that passage dearer, pardy, than any 
battle. Then, when he hath got to earth with such 
ragged handful as escapeth us — all his great 
friends fallen and fled away, and none to give him- 
aid — we shall beleaguer that old fox about, and 
great shall be the fall of him. ’T is a fat buck ; 
he will make a dinner for us all.” 

“ Ay,” returned Lawless, “ I have eaten many 
of these dinners beforehand; but the cooking of 
them is hot work, good Master Ellis. And mean- 
while what do we? We make black arrows, we 
write rhymes, and we drink fair cold water, that 
discomfortable drink.” 

“ Y’ are untrue. Will Lawless. Ye still smell 
of the Grey Friars’ buttery; greed is your undo- 
ing,” answered Ellis. “ We took twenty pounds 
from Appleyard. We took seven marks from the 
messenger last night. A day ago we had fifty from 
the merchant.” 

“ And to-day,” said one of the men, “ I stopped 
a fat pardoner riding apace for Holywood. Here 
is his purse.” 

Ellis counted the contents. 

“ Five-score shillings ! ” he grumbled. “ Fool, he 
had more in his sandal, or stitched into his tippet. 


THE BLACK ARROW 63 

Y’ are but a child, Tom Cuckow; ye have lost the 
fish.” 

But, for all that, Ellis pocketed the purse with 
nonchalance. He stood leaning on his boar-spear, 
and looked round upon the rest. They, in various 
attitudes, took greedily of the venison pottage, and 
liberally washed it down with ale. This was a 
good day ; they were in luck ; but business pressed, 
and they were speedy in their eating. The first- 
comers had by this time even despatched their 
dinner. Some lay down upon the grass and fell 
instantly asleep, like boa-constrictors ; others talked 
together, or overhauled their weapons : and one, 
whose humour was particularly gay, holding forth 
an ale-horn, began to sing: 

“ Here is no law in good green shaw, 

Here is no lack of meat; 

’T is merry and quiet, with deer for our diet, 

In summer, when all is sweet. 

Come winter again, with wind and rain — 

Come winter, with snow and sleet. 

Get home to your places, with hoods on your faces, 

And sit by the fire and eat.” 

All this while the two lads had listened and lain 
close; only Richard had unslung his cross-bow, 
and held ready in one hand the windac, or grap- 
pling-iron that he used to bend it. Otherwise they 
had not dared to stir ; and this scene of forest life 
had gone on before their eyes like a scene upon a 
theatre. But now there came a strange interrup- 
tion. The tall chimney which overtopped the re- 


64 THE BLACK ARROW 

mainder of the ruins rose right above their hiding- 
place. There came a whistle in the air, and then 
a sounding smack, and the fragments of a broken 
arrow fell about their ears. Some one from the 
upper quarters of the wood, perhaps the very sen- 
tinel they saw posted in the fir, had shot an arrow 
at the chimney-top. 

Matcham could not restrain a little cry, which he 
instantly stifled, and even Dick started with sur- 
prise, and dropped the windac from his fingers. 
But to the fellows on the lawn, this shaft was an ' 
expected signal. They were all afoot together, 
tightening their belts, testing their bow-strings, 
loosening sword and dagger in the sheath. Ellis 
held up his hand ; his face had suddenly assumed a 
look of savage energy ; the white of his eyes shone 
in his sun-brown face. 

“ Lads,” he said, “ ye know your places. Let 
not one man’s soul escape you. Appleyard was a 
whet before a meal; but now we go to table. I | 
have three men whom I will bitterly avenge — j 
Harry Shelton, Simon Malmesbury, and ” — strik- | 
ing his broad bosom — “ and Ellis Duckworth, by [ 
the mass ! ” 

Another man came, red with hurry, through the | 
thorns. | 

“ ’T is not Sir Daniel! ” he panted. “ They arei 
but seven. Is the arrow gone? ” ^ 

“ It struck but now,” replied Ellis | 

“ A murrain ! ” cried the messenger. “ Me- | 
thought I heard it whistle. And I go dinnerless! ”* 
In the space of a minute, some running, some? 


THE BLACK ARROW 65 

walking sharply, according as their stations were 
nearer or farther away, the men of the Black 
Arrow had all disappeared from the neighbourhood 
of the ruined house ; and the caldron, and the fire, 
which was now burning low, and the dead deer’s 
carcase on the hawthorn, remained alone to testify 
they had been there. 


CHAPTER V 


« BLOODY AS THE HUNTER” 

T he lads lay quiet till the last footstep had 
melted on the wind. Then they arose, 
and with many an ache, for they were 
weary with constraint, clambered through the 
ruins, and recrossed the ditch upon the rafter. 
Matcham had picked up the windac and went first, 
Dick following stiffly, with his cross-bow on his 
arm. 

“And now,” said Matcham, “forth to Holy- 
vvood.” 

“ To Holywood ! ” cried Dick, “ when good fel- 
lows stand shot? Not I ! I would see you hanged 
first. Jack ! ” 

“Ye would leave me, would ye?” Matcham 
asked. 

“ Ay, by my sooth ! ” returned Dick. “ An I be 
not in time to warn these lads, I will go die with 
them. What! would ye have me leave my own 
men that I have lived among? I trow not! Give 
me my windac.” 

But there was nothing further from Matcham’ s 
mind. 

“ Dick,” he said, “ ye sware before the saints 
that ye would see me safe to Holywood. Would 


THE BLACK ARROW 67 

}e be forsworn ? Would you desert me — a 
perjurer? ” 

“ Nay, I sware for the best,” returned Dick. 
“I meant it too; but now! But look ye, Jack, 
turn again with me. Let me but warn these men, 
and, if needs must, stand shot with them; then 
shall all be clear, and I will on again to Holywood 
and purge mine oath.” 

“Ye but deride me,” answered Matcham. 
“ These men ye go to succour are the same that 
hunt me to my ruin.” 

Dick scratched his head. 

“ I cannot help it. Jack,” he said. “ Here is no 
remedy. What would ye? Ye run no great peril, 
man ; and these are in the way of death. Death 1 ” 
he added. “ Think of it ! What a murrain do ye 
keep me here for? Give me the windac. St. 
George! shall they all die?” 

“ Richard Shelton,” said Matcham, looking him 
squarely in the face, “ would ye, then, join party 
with Sir Daniel? Have ye not ears? Heard ye 
not this Ellis, what he said? or have ye no heart 
for your own kindly blood and the father that men 
slew ? ‘ Harry Shelton,’ he said ; and Sir Harry 

Shelton was your father, as the sun shines in 
heaven.” 

“ What would ye? ” Dick cried again. “ Would 
ye have me credit thieves?” 

“ Nay, I have heard it before now,” returned 
Matcham. “ The fame goeth currently, it was Sir 
Daniel slew him. He slew him under oath ; in his 
own house he shed the innocent blood. Heaven 


68 THE BLACK ARROW 


wearies for the avenging on h ; and you — the 
man’s son — ye go about to comfort and defend 
the murderer ! ” 

“ Jack,” cried the lad, “ I know not. It may be ; 
what know I ? But, see here : This man hath bred 
me up and fostered me, and his men I have hunted 
with and played among; and to leave them in the 
hour of peril — O, man, if I did that, I were stark 
dead to honour! Nay, Jack, ye would not ask it; 
ye would not wish me to be base.” 

“ But your father, Dick? ” said Matcham, some-- 
what wavering. “Your father? and your oath 
to me? Ye took the saints to witness.” 

“ My father? ” cried Shelton. “ Nay, he would 
have me go! If Sir Daniel slew him, when the 
hour comes this hand shall slay Sir Daniel; but 
neither him nor his will I desert in peril. And for 
mine oath, good Jack, ye shall absolve me of it 
here. For the lives’ sake of many men that hurt 
you not, and for mine honour, ve shall set me 
free.” 

“I, Dick? Never!” returned Matcham. “An 
ye leave me, y’ are forsworn, and so I shall declare 
it.” 

“ My blood heats,” said Dick. “ Give me the 
windac ! Give it me ! ” 

“ I ’ll not,” said Matcham. “ I ’ll save you in 
your teeth.” 

“ Not? ” cried Dick. “ I ’ll make you! ” 

“ Try it,” said the other. 

They stood, looking in each other’s eyes, each 
ready for a spring. Then Dick leaped ; and though 


THE BLACK ARROW 69 

Matcham turned instantly and fled, in two bounds 
he was overtaken, the windac was twisted- from 
his grasp, he was thrown roughly to the ground, 
and Dick stood across him, flushed and menacing, 
with doubled fist. Matcham lay where he had 
fallen, with his face in the grass, not thinking of 
resistance. 

Dick bent his bow. 

“ I ’ll teach you ! ” he cried, fiercely. “ Oath or 
no oath, ye may go hang for me ! ” 

And he turned and began to run. Matcham 
was on his feet at once, and began running after 
him. 

“What d’ ye want?” cried Dick, stopping. 
“What make ye after me? Stand off!” 

“ I will follow an I please,” said Matcham. 
“ This wood is free to me.” 

“ Stand back, by ’r Lady! ” returned Dick, rais- 
ing his bow. 

“ Ah, y’ are a brave boy ! ” retorted Matcham. 
“Shoot!” 

Dick lowered his weapon in some confusion. 

“ See here,” he said. “ Y’ have done me ill 
enough. Go, then. Go your way in fair wise; 
or, whether I will or not, I must even drive you 
to it.” 

“ Well,” said Matcham, doggedly, “ y’ are the 
stronger. Do your worst. I shall not leave to 
follow thee, Dick, unless thou makest me,” he 
added. 

Dick was almost beside himself. It went against 
his heart to beat a creature so defenceless; and. 


70 


THE BLACK ARROW 


for the life of him, he knew no other way to rid 
himself of this unwelcome and, as he began to 
think, perhaps untrue companion. 

“ Y’ are mad, I think,” he cried. “ Fool-fellow, 
I am hasting to your foes; as fast as foot can 
carry me, go I thither.” 

“ I care not, Dick,” replied the lad. “ If y’ are 
bound to die, Dick, I ’ll die too. I would liever go 
with you to prison than to go free without you.” 

“ Well,” returned the other, “ I may stand no 
longer prating. Follow me, if ye must; but if ye 
play me false, it shall but little advance you, mark 
ye that. Shalt have a quarrel in thine inwards, 
boy.” 

So saying, Dick took once more to his heels, 
keeping in the margin of the thicket and looking 
briskly about him as he went. At a good pace he 
rattled out of the dell, and came again into the 
more open quarters of the wood. To the left a 
little eminence appeared, spotted with golden gorse, 
and crowned with a black tuft of firs. 

“ I shall see from there,” he thought, and struck 
for it across a heathy clearing. 

He had gone but a few yards, when Matcham 
touched him on the arm, and pointed. To the east- 
ward of the summit there was a dip, and, as it 
were, a valley passing to the other side ; the heath 
was not yet out; all the ground was rusty, like an 
unscoured buckler, and dotted sparingly with yews ; 
and there, one following another, Dick saw half a 
score green jerkins mounting the ascent, and march- 
ing at their head, conspicuous by his boar-spear. 


THE BLACK ARROW 71 

Ellis Duckworth in person. One after another 
gained the top, showed for a moment against the 
sky, and then dipped upon the further side, until 
the last was gone. 

Dick looked at Matcham with a kindlier eye. 

“ So y’ are to be true to me. Jack? ” he asked. 

I thought ye were of the other party.” 

IMatcham began to sob. 

“What cheer!” cried Dick. “Now the saints 
behold us ! would ye snivel for a word ? ” 

“ Ye hurt me,” sobbed Matcham. “ Ye hurt me 
when ye threw me down. Y’ are a coward to abuse 
your strength.” 

“ Nay, that is fool’s talk,” said Dick, roughly. 
“ Y’ had no title to my windac. Master John. I 
would ’a’ done right to have well basted you. If 
ye go with me, ye must obey me; and so, come.” 

Matcham had half a thought to stay behind; 
but, seeing that Dick continued to scour full-tilt 
towards the eminence and not so much as looked 
across his shoulder, he soon thought better of that, 
and began to run in turn. But the ground was 
very difficult and steep; Dick had already a long 
start, and had, at any rate, the lighter heels, and he 
had long since come to the summit, crawled forward 
through the firs, and ensconced himself in a thick 
tuft of gorse, before Matcham, panting like a deer, 
rejoined him, and lay down in silence by his side. 

Below, in the bottom of a considerable valley, 
the short cut from Tunstall hamlet wound down- 
wards to the ferry. It was well beaten, and the 
eye followed it easily from point to point. Here 


72 THE BLACK ARROW 

it was bordered by open glades; there the forest 
closed upon it ; every hundred yards it ran beside 
an ambush. Far down the path, the sun shone on 
seven steel salets, and from time to time, as the 
trees opened, Selden and his men could be seen 
riding briskly, still bent upon Sir Daniel’s mission. 
The wind had somewhat fallen, but still tussled 
merrily with the trees, and, perhaps, had Apple- 
yard been there, he would have drawn a warning 
from the troubled conduct of the birds. 

“ Now, mark,” Dick whispered. “ They be al- 
ready well advanced into the wood; their safety 
lieth rather in continuing forward. But see ye 
where this wide glade runneth down before us, 
and in the midst of it, these two-score trees make 
like an island ? There were their safety. An they 
but come sound as far as that, I will make shift 
to warn them. But my heart misgiveth me; they 
are but seven against so many, and they but carry 
cross-bows. The long-bow. Jack, will have the 
uppermost ever.” 

Meanwhile, Selden and his men still wound up 
the path, ignorant of 'their danger, and momently 
drew nearer hand. Once, indeed, they paused, 
drew into a group, and seemed to point and listen! 
But it was something from far away across the 
plain that had arrested their attention — a hollow 
growl of cannon that came, from time to time, 
upon the wind, and told of the great battle. It 
was worth a thought, to be sure; for if the voice 
of the big guns were thus become audible in Tun- 
stall Forest, the fight must have rolled ever east- 


THE BLACK ARROW 73 

ward, and the day, by consequence, gone sore 
against Sir Daniel and the lords of the dark rose. 

But presently the little troop began again to 
move forward, and came next to a very open, 
heathy portion of the way, where but a single 
tongue of forest ran down to join the road. They 
were but just abreast of this, when an arrow shone 
flying. One of the men threw up his arms, his 
horse reared, and both fell and struggled together 
in a mass. Even from where the boys lay they 
could hear the rumour of the men’s voices crying 
out; they could see the startled horses prancing, 
and, presently, as the troop began to recover from 
. their first surprise, one fellow beginning to dis- 
mount. A second arrow from somewhat farther 
off glanced in a wide arch; a second rider bit the 
dust. The man who was dismounting lost hold 
upon the rein, and his horse fled galloping, and 
dragged him by the foot along the road, bumping 
from stone to stone, and battered by the fleeing 
hoofs. The four who still kept the saddle instantly 
broke and scattered ; one wheeled and rode, shriek- 
ing, towards the ferry; the other three, with loose 
rein and flying raiment, came galloping up the road 
from Tunstall. From every clump they passed an 
arrow sped. Soon a horse fell, but the rider found 
his feet and continued to pursue his comrades till 
a second shot despatched him. Another man fell ; 
then another horse ; out of the whole troop there was 
but one fellow left, and he on foot ; only, in differ- 
ent directions, the noise of the galloping of three 
riderless horses was dying fast into the distance. 


74 THE BLACK ARROW 

All this time not one of the assailants had for a 
moment shown himself. Here and there along the 
path, horse or man rolled, nndespatched, in his 
agony; but no merciful enemy broke cover to put 
them from their pain. 

The solitary survivor stood bewildered in the 
road beside his fallen charger. He had come the 
length of that broad glade, with the island of 
timber, pointed out by Dick. He was not, per- 
haps, five hundred yards from where the boys lay 
hidden; and they could see him plainly, looking 
to and fro in deadly expectation. But nothing 
came ; and the man began to pluck up his courage, 
and suddenly unslung and bent his bow. At the 
same time, by something in his action, Dick recog- 
nised Selden. 

At this offer of resistance, from all about him in 
the covert of the woods there went up the sound of 
laughter. A score of men, at least, for this was 
the very thickest of the ambush, joined in this 
cruel and untimely mirth. Then an arrow glanced 
over Selden’s shoulder; and he leaped and ran a 
little back. Another dart struck quivering at his 
heel. He made for the cover. A third shaft leaped 
out right in his face, and fell short in front of him. 
And then the laughter was repeated loudly, rising 
and re-echoing from different thickets. 

It was plain that his assailants were but baiting 
him, as men, in those days, baited the poor bull, or 
as the cat still trifles with the mouse. The skirmish 
was well over; farther down the road, a fellow in 
green was already calmly gathering the arrows; 


THE BLACK ARROW 75 

and now, in the evil pleasure of their hearts, they 
gave themselves the spectacle of their poor fellow- 
sinner in his torture. 

Selden began to understand; he uttered a roar 
of anger, shouldered his cross-bow, and sent a 
Cjuarrel at a venture into the wood. Chance fa- 
voured him, for a slight cry responded. Then, 
throwing down his weapon, Selden began to run 
before him up the glade, and almost in a straight 
line for Dick and Matcham. 

The companions of the Black Arrow now began 
to shoot in earnest. But they were properly served ; 
their chance had past; most of them had now to 
shoot against the sun ; and Selden, as he ran. 
bounded from side to side to baffle and deceive 
their aim. Best of all, by turning up the glade he 
had defeated their preparations; there were no 
marksmen posted higher up than the one whom he 
had just killed or wounded ; and the confusion of 
the foresters’ counsels soon became apparent. A 
whistle sounded thrice, and then again twice. It 
was repeated from another quarter. The woods on 
either side became full of the sound of people burst- 
ing through the underwood ; and a bewildered deer 
ran out into the open, stood for a second on three 
feet, with nose in air, and then plunged again into 
the thicket. 

Selden still ran, bounding; ever and again an 
arrow followed him, but still would miss. It began 
to appear as if he might escape. Dick had his bow 
armed, ready to support him ; even Matcham, for- 
getful of his interest, took sides at heart for the 


76 THE BLACK ARROW 

poor fugitive; and both lads glowed and trembled 
in the ardour of their hearts. 

He was within fifty yards of them, when an 
arrow struck him and he fell. He was up again, 
indeed, upon the instant; but now he ran stagger- 
ing, and, like a blind man, turned aside from his 
direction. 

Dick leaped to his feet and waved to him. 

“ Here ! ” he cried. “ This way ! here is help ! 
Nay, run, fellow — run ! ” 

But just then a second arrow struck Selden in 
the shoulder, between the plates of his brigandine, 
and, piercing through his jack, brought him, like a 
stone, to earth. 

“ O, the poor heart ! ” cried Matcham, with 
clasped hands. 

And Dick stood petrified upon the hill, a mark 
for archery. 

Ten to one he had speedily been shot — for 
the foresters were furious with themselves, and 
taken unawares by Dick’s appearance in the rear 
of their position — but instantly, out of a quar- 
ter of the wood surprisingly near to the two 
lads, a stentorian voice arose, the voice of Ellis 
Duckworth. 

“ Hold ! ” it roared. “ Shoot not ! Take him 
alive ! It is young Shelton — Harry’s son.” 

And immediately after a shrill whistle sounded 
several times, and was again taken up and repeated 
farther off. The whistle, it appeared, was John 
Amend-All’s battle trumpet, by which he published 
his directions. 


THE BLACK ARROW 77 

“ Ah, foul fortune ! ” cried Dick. “ We are un- 
done. Swiftly, Jack, come swiftly!” 

And the pair turned and ran back through the 
open pine clump that covered the summit of the 
hill. 


CHAPTER VI 


TO THE DAY’S END 

I T was, indeed, high time for them to run. On 
every side the company of the Black Arrow 
was making for the hill. Some, being better 
runners, or having open ground to run upon, had 
far outstripped the others, and were already close 
upon the goal ; some, following valleys, had spread 
out to right and left, and outflanked the lads on 
either side. 

Dick plunged into the nearest cover. It was a 
tall grove of oaks, firm underfoot and clear of 
underbrush, and as it lay down-hill, they made 
good speed. There followed next a piece of open, 
which Dick avoided, holding to his left. Two 
minutes after, and the same obstacle arising, the 
lads followed the same course. Thus it followed 
that, while the lads, bending continually to the 
left, drew nearer and nearer to the highroad 
and the river which they had crossed an hour or 
two before, the great bulk of their pursuers were 
leaning to the other hand, and running towards 
Tunstall. 

The lads paused to breathe. There was no sound 
of pursuit. Dick put his ear to the ground, and 
still there was nothing; but the wind, to be sure. 


THE BLACK ARROW 79 

still made a turmoil in the trees, and it was hard 
to make certain. 

“ On again,” said Dick ; and, tired as they were, 
and Matcham limping with his injured foot, they 
pulled themselves together, and once more pelted 
down the hill. 

Three minutes later, they were breasting through 
a low thicket of evergreen. High overhead, the 
tall trees made a continuous roof of foliage. It was 
a pillared grove, as high as a cathedral, and except 
for the hollies among which the lads were strug^ 
gling, open and smoothly swarded. 

On the other side, pushing through the last 
fringe of evergreen, they blundered forth again 
into the open twilight of the grove. 

“ Stand ! ” cried a voice. 

And there, between the huge stems, not fifty feet 
before them, they beheld a stout fellow in green, 
sore blown with running, who instantly drew an 
arrow to the head and covered them. Matcham 
stopped with a cry ; but Dick, without a pause, ran 
straight upon the forester, drawing his dagger as 
he went. The other, whether he was startled by 
the daring of the onslaught, or whether he was 
hampered by his orders, did not shoot; he stood 
wavering ; and before he had time to come to him- 
self, Dick bounded at his throat, and sent him 
sprawling backward on the turf. The arrow went 
one way and the bow another with a sounding 
twang. The disarmed forester grappled his as- 
sailant ; but the dagger shone and descended twice. 
Then came a couple of groans, and then Dick rose 


8o THE BLACK ARROW 


to his feet again, and the man lay motionless, 
stabbed to the heart. 

“ On ! ” said Dick ; and he once more pelted for- 
ward, Matcham trailing in the rear. To say truth, 
they made but poor speed of it by now, labouring 
dismally as they ran, and catching for their breath 
like fish. Matcham had a cruel stitch, and his 
head swam ; and as for Dick, his knees were like 
lead. But they kept up the form of running with 
undiminished courage. 

Presently they came to the end of the grove. 
It stopped abruptly; and there, a few yards be- 
fore them, was the highroad from Risingham to 
Shoreby, lying, at this point, between two even 
walls of forest. 

At the sight Dick paused; and as soon as he 
stopped running, he became aware of a confused 
noise, which rapidly grew louder. It was at first 
like the rush of a very high gust of wind, but soon 
it became more definite, and resolved itself into the 
galloping of horses ; and then, in a flash, a whole 
company of men-at-arms came driving round the 
corner, swept before the lads, and were gone again 
upon the instant. They rode as for their lives, in 
complete disorder; some of them were wounded; 
riderless horses galloped at their side with bloody 
saddles. They were plainly fugitives from the 
great battle. 

The noise of their passage had scarce begun to 
die away towards Shoreby, before fresh hoofs 
came echoing in their wake, and another deserter 
clattered down the road; this time a single rider 


THE BLACK ARROW 8i 


and, by his splendid armour, a man of high degree. 
Close after him there followed several baggage- 
waggons, fleeing at an ungainly canter, the drivers 
flailing at the horses as if for life. These must 
have run early in the day; but their cowardice 
was not to save them. For just before they came 
abreast of where the lads stood wondering, a man 
in hacked armour, and seemingly beside himself 
with fury, overtook the waggons, and with the 
truncheon of a sword, began to cut the drivers 
down. Some leaped from their places and plunged 
into the wood; the others he sabred as they sat, 
cursing them the while for cowards in a voice that 
was scarce human. 

All this time the noise in the distance had con- 
tinued to increase; the rumble of carts, the clatter 
of horses, the cries of men, a great, confused 
rumour, came swelling on the wind ; and it was 
plain that the rout of a whole army was pouring, 
like an inundation, down the road. 

Dick stood sombre. He had meant to follow the 
highway till the turn for Holywood, and now he 
had to change his plan. But above all, he had rec- 
ogfnised the colours of Earl Risingham, and he 
knew that the battle had gone finally against the 
rose of Lancaster. Had Sir Daniel joined, and 
was he now a fugitive and ruined? oi" had he de- 
serted to the side of York, and was he forfeit to 
honour? It was an ugly choice. 

“ Come,” he said, sternly ; and, turning on his 
heel, he began to walk forward through the grove, 
with Matcham limping in his rear. 

6 


82 THE BLACK ARROW 


For some time they continued to thread the forest 
in silence. It was now growing late; the sun was 
setting in the plain beyond Kettley; the tree-tops 
overhead glowed golden; but the shadows had 
begun to grow darker and the chill of the night to 
fall. 

“ If there were anything to eat ! ” cried Dick, 
suddenly, pausing as he spoke. 

Matcham sat down and began to weep. 

“Ye can weep for your own supper, but when it 
was to save men’s lives, your heart was hard 
enough,” said Dick, contemptuously. “ Y’ ’ave 
seven deaths upon your conscience, Master John: 
I ’ll ne’er forgive you that.” 

“ Conscience ! ” cried Matcham, looking fiercely 
up. “ Mine ! And ye have the man’s red blood 
upon your dagger! And wherefore did ye slay 
him, the poor soul? He drew his arrow, but he 
let not fly; he held you in his hand, and spared 
you ! ’T is as brave to kill a kitten, as a man that 
not defends himself.” 

Dick was struck dumb. 

“ I slew him fair. I ran me in upon his bow,” 
he cried. 

“ It was a coward blow,” returned Matcham. 
“ Y’ are but a lout and bully. Master Dick ; ye 
but abuse advantages; let there come a stronger, 
we will see you truckle at his boot! Ye care 
not for vengeance, neither — for your father’s 
death that goes unpaid, and his poor ghost that 
clamoureth for justice. But if there come but a 
poor creature in your hands that lacketh skill and 


THE BLACK ARROW 83 

strength, and would befriend you, down she shall 
go ! ” 

Dick was too furious to observe that “ she.” 

“ Marry ! ” he cried, “ and here is news ! Of 
any two the one will still be stronger. The better 
man throweth the worse, and the worse is well 
served. Ye deserve a belting, Master Matcham, 
for your ill-guidance and unthankfulness to me- 
ward; and what ye deserve ye shall have.” 

And Dick, who, even in his angriest temper, 
still preserved the appearance of composure, began 
to unbuckle his belt. 

“ Here shall be your supper,” he said, grimly. 

Matcham had stopped his tears ; he was as white 
as a sheet, but he looked Dick steadily in the face, 
and never moved. Dick took a step, swinging the 
belt. Then he paused, embarrassed by the large 
eyes and the thin, weary face of his companion. 
His courage began to subside. 

“ Say ye were in the wrong, then,” he said, 
lamely. 

“ Nay,” said Matcham, “ I was in the right. 
Come, cruel ! I be lame ; I be weary ; I resist not; 
I ne’er did thee hurt ; come, beat me — coward ! ” 

Dick raised the belt at this last provocation ; but 
Matcham winced and drew himself together with 
so cruel an apprehension, that his heart failed him 
yet again. The strap fell by his side, and he stood 
irresolute, feeling like a fool. 

“ A plague upon thee, shrew ! ” he said. “ An 
ye be so feeble of hand, ye should keep the closer 
guard upon your tongue. But I ’ll be hanged 


5^4 THE BLACK ARROW 

before I beat you ! ” and he put on his belt again. 
“ Beat you I will not/' he continued ; “ but for- 
give you ? — never. I knew ye not ; ye were my 
master’s enemy ; I lent you my horse ; my dinner 
ye have eaten ; y’ ’ave called me a man o’ wood, 
a coward, and a bully. Nay, by the mass! the 
measure is filled, and runneth over. ’T is a great 
thing to be weak, I trow : ye can do your worst, 
yet shall none punish you; ye may steal a man’s 
weapons in the hour of need, yet may the man 
not take his own again ; — y’ are weak, for- 
sooth ! Nay, then, if one cometh charging at you 
with a lance, and crieth he is weak, ye must 
let him pierce your body through! Tut! fool 
words ! ” 

“ And yet ye beat me not,” returned Matcham. 

“ Let be,” said Dick — “ let be. I will instruct 
you. Y’ ’ave been ill-nurtured, methinks, and yet 
ye have the makings of some good, and, beyond 
all question, saved me from the river. Nay, I had 
forgotten it; I am as thankless as thyself. But, 
come, let us on. An we be for Holywood this 
night, ay, or to-morrow early, we had best set 
forward speedily.” 

But though Dick had talked himself back into 
his usual good-humour, Matcham had forgiven 
him nothing. His violence, the recollection of the 
forester whom he had slain — above all, the vision 
of the upraised belt, were things not easily to be 
forgotten. 

“ I will thank you, for the form’s sake,” said 
Matcham. “ But, in sooth, good Master Shelton, 


THE BLACK ARROW 85 

I had liever find my way alone. Here is a wide 
wood ; prithee, let each choose his path ; I owe you 
a dinner and a lesson. Fare ye well ! ” 

“ Nay,” cried Dick, “ if that be your tune, so be 
it, and a plague be with you ! ” 

Each turned aside, and they began walking off 
severally, with no thought of the direction, intent 
solely on their quarrel. But Dick had not gone ten 
paces ere his name was called, and Matcham came 
running after. 

“ Dick,” he said, “ it were unmannerly to part 
so coldly. Here is my hand, and my heart with it. 
For all that wherein you have so excellently served 
and helped me — not for the form, but from the 
heart, I thank you. Fare ye right well.” 

“ Well, lad,” returned Dick, taking the hand 
which was offered him, “ good speed to you, if 
speed you may. But I misdoubt it shrewdly. Y' 
are too disputatious.” 

So then they separated for the second time ; and 
presently it was Dick who was running after 
Matcham. 

“Here,” he said, “take my cross-bow; shalt 
not go unarmed.” 

“ A cross-bow ! ” said Matcham. “ Nay, boy, 
I have neither the strength to bend nor yet the skill 
to aim with it. It were no help to me, good boy. 
But yet I thank you.” 

The night had now fallen, and under the trees 
they could no longer read each other’s face. 

“ I will go some little way with you,” said Dick. 
“ The night is dark, I would fain leave you on a 


86 THE BLACK ARROW 


path, at least. My mind misgiveth me, y’ are likely 
to be lost.” 

Without any more words, he began to walk for- 
ward, and the other once more followed him. The 
blackness grew thicker and thicker. Only here and 
there, in open places, they saw the sky, dotted with 
small stars. In the distance, the noise of the rout 
of the Lancastrian army still continued to be faintly 
audible ; but with every step they left it farther in 
the rear. 

At the end of half an hour of silent progress they 
came forth upon a broad patch of heathy open. It 
glimmered in the light of the stars, shaggy with 
fern and islanded with clumps of yew. And here 
they paused and looked upon each other. 

“ Y’ are weary ? ” Dick said. 

“ Nay, I am so weary,” answered Matcham, 
“ that methinks I could lie down and die.” 

“ I hear the chiding of a river,” returned Dick. 
“ Let us go so far forth, for I am sore athirst.” 

The ground sloped down gently ; and, sure 
enough, in the bottom, they found a little murmur- 
ing river, running among willows. Here they 
threw themselves down together by the brink ; and 
putting their mouths to the level of a starry pool, 
they drank their fill. 

“ Dick,” said Matcham, “ it may not be. I can 
no more.” 

“ I saw a pit as we came down,” said Dick. “ Let 
us lie down therein and sleep.” 

“ Nay, but with all my heart! ” cried Matcham. 

The pit was sandy and dry ; a shock of brambles 


THE BLACK ARROW 87 

hung upon one hedge, and made a partial shelter; 
and there the two lads lay down, keeping close 
together for the sake of warmth, their quarrel all 
forgotten. And soon sleep fell upon them like a 
cloud, and under the dew and stars they rested 
peacefully. 


CHAPTER VII 
THE HOODED FACE 
HEY awoke in the grey of the morning; 



the birds were not yet in full song, but 


twittered here and there among the 


woods; the sun was not yet up, but the eastern 
sky was barred with solemn colours. Half starved 
and over-weary as they were, they lay without 
moving, sunk in a delightful lassitude. And as 
they thus lay, the clang of a bell fell suddenly upon 
their ears. 

“ A bell ! ” said Dick, sitting up. “ Can we be, 
then, so near to Holy wood? ” 

A little after, the bell clanged again, but this 
time somewhat nearer hand; and from that time 
forth, and still drawing nearer and nearer, it con- 
tinued to sound brokenly abroad in the silence of 
the morning. 

“Nay, what should this betoken?” said Dick, 
who was now broad awake. 

“ It is some one walking,” returned Matcham, 
“ and the bell tolleth ever as he moves.” 

“ I see that well,” said Dick. “ But wherefore? 
What maketh he in Tunstall Woods? Jack,” he 
added, “ laugh at me an ye will, but I like not the 
hollow sound of it.” 


I THE BLACK ARROW 89 

I “ Nay,” said Matcham, with a shiver, “ it hath 

I a doleful note. An the day were not come ” 

■ But just then the bell, quickening its pace, began 
j to ring thick and hurried, and then it gave a single 
i hammering jangle, and was silent for a space, 
j “ It is as though the bearer had run for a pater- 
! noster while, and then leaped the river,” Dick 
i observed. 

“ And now beginneth he again to pace soberly 
forward,” added Matcham. 

“ Nay,” returned Dick — “ nay, not so soberly. 
Jack. ’T is a man that walketh you right speedily. 
’T is a man in some fear of his life, or about some 
hurried business. See ye not how swift the beat- 
ing draweth near ? ” 

“ It is now close by,” said Matcham. 

They were now on the edge of the pit; and as 
the pit itself was on a certain eminence, they com- 
manded a view over the greater proportion of the 
clearing, up to the thick woods that closed it in. 

The daylight, which was very clear and grey, 
showed them a riband of white foot-path wander- 
ing among the gorse. It passed some hundred 
yards from the pit, and ran the whole length of 
the clearing, east and west. By the line of its 
course, Dick judged it should lead more or less 
directly to the Moat House. 

Upon this path, stepping forth from the margin 
of the wood, a white figure now appeared. It 
paused a little, and seemed to look about; and 
then, at a slow pace, and bent almost double, it 
began to draw near across the heath. At every 


90 THE BLACK ARROW 

step the bell clanked. Face, it had none; a white 
hood, not even pierced with eye-holes, veiled the 
head; and as the creature moved, it seemed to 
feel its way with the tapping of a stick. Fear fell 
upon the lads, as cold as death. 

“ A leper ! ” said Dick, hoarsely. 

“ His touch is death,” said Matcham. “ Let us 
run.” 

“ Not so,” returned Dick. “ See ye not? — he is 
stone blind. He guideth him with a staff. Let us 
lie still; the wind bloweth towards the path, and 
he will go by and hurt us not. Alas, poor soul, 
and we should rather pity him ! ” 

“I will pity him when he is by,” replied Matcham. 

The blind leper was now about half-way towards 
them, and just then the sun rose and shone full on 
his veiled face. He had been a tall man before 
he was bowed by his disgusting sickness, and even 
now he walked with a vigorous step. The dismal 
beating of his bell, the pattering of the stick, the 
eyeless screen before his countenance, and the know- 
ledge that he was not only doomed to death and 
suffering, but shut out for ever from the touch of 
his fellow-men, filled the lads’ bosoms with dismay ; 
and at every step that brought him nearer, their 
courage and strength seemed to desert them. 

As he came about level with the pit, he paused, 
and turned his face full upon the lads. 

“ Mary be my shield ! He sees us ! ” said 
Matcham, faintly. 

“Hush!” whispered Dick. “He doth but 
hearken. He is blind, fool ! ” 


THE BLACK ARROW 91 

The leper looked or listened, whichever he was 
really doing, for some seconds. Then he began 
to move on again, but presently paused once more, 
and again turned and seemed to gaze upon the lads. 
Even Dick became dead-white and closed his eyes, 
as if by the mere sight he might become infected. 
But soon the bell sounded, and this time, without 
any farther hesitation, the leper crossed the re- 
mainder of the little heath and disappeared into 
the covert of the woods. 

“ He saw us,” said Matcham. “ I could swear 
it!” 

“Tut!” returned Dick, recovering some sparks 
of courage. “ He but heard us. He was in fear, 
poor soul ! An ye were blind, and walked in a 
, perpetual night, ye would start yourself, if ever a 
twig rustled or a bird cried ‘ Peep.’ ” 

“ Dick, good Dick, he saw us,” repeated 
Matcham. “ When a man hearkeneth, he doth 
not as this man; he doth otherwise, Dick. This 
was seeing; it was not hearing. He means foully. 
Hark, else, if his bell be not stopped ! ” 

Such was the case. The bell rang no longer. 

“ Nay,” said Dick, “ I like not that. Nay,” he 
' cried again, “ I like that little. What may this 
I betoken ? Let us go, by the mass ! ” 

“ He hath gone east,” added Matcham. “ Good 
! Dick, let us go westward straight; I shall not 
breathe till I have my back turned upon that leper.” 

I “ Jack, y’ are too cowardly,” replied Dick. “We 
I shall go fair for Holywood, or as fair, at least, as 
! I can guide you, and that will be due north.” 


92 THE BLACK ARROW 

They were afoot at once, passed the stream upon 
some stepping-stones, and began to mount on the 
other side, which was steeper, towards the margin 
of the wood. The ground became very uneven, 
full of knolls and hollows; trees grew scattered 
or in clumps; it became difficult to choose a path, 
and the lads somewhat wandered. They were 
weary, besides, with yesterday’s exertions and the 
lack of food, and they moved but heavily and 
dragged their feet among the sand. 

Presently, coming to the top of a knoll, they were 
aware of the leper, some hundred feet in front of 
them, crossing the line of their march by a hollow. 
His bell was silent, his staff no longer tapped 
the ground, and he went before him with the 
swift and assured footsteps of a man who sees. 
Next moment he had disappeared into a little 
thicket. 

The lads, at the first glimpse, had crouched 
behind a tuft of gorse; there they lay, horror- 
struck. 

“ Certain, he pursueth us,” said Dick — “ cer- 
tain ! He held the clapper of his bell in one hand, 
saw ye? that it should not sound. Now may the 
saints aid and guide us, for I have no strength to 
combat pestilence ! ” 

“What maketh he?” cried Matcham. “What 
doth he want? Who ever heard the like, that a 
leper, out of mere malice, should pursue unfortu- 
nates? Hath he not his bell to that very end, that 
people may avoid him? Dick, there is below this 
something deeper.” 


THE BLACK ARROW 93 

“ Nay, I care not,” moaned Dick; ‘‘ the strength 
is gone out of me; my legs are like water. The 
saints be mine assistance ! ” 

“Would ye lie there idle?” cried Matcham. 
“ Let us back into the open. We have the better 
chance; he cannot steal upon us unawares.” 

“ Not I,” said Dick. “ My time is come, and 
peradventure he may pass us by.” 

“ Bend me, then, your bow ! ” cried the other. 
“ What ! will ye be a man ? ” 

Dick crossed himself. “ Would ye have me 
shoot upon a leper? ” he cried. “ The hand would 
fail me. Nay, now,” he added — “ nay, now, let 
be! With sound men I will fight, but not with 
ghosts and lepers. Which this is I wot not. One 
or other. Heaven be our protection I ” 

“ Now,” said Matcham, “ if this be man’s cour- 
age, what a poor thing is man! But sith ye will 
do naught, let us lie close.” 

Then came a single, broken jangle on the bell. 

“ He hath missed his hold upon the clapper,” 
whispered Matcham. “ Saints ! how near he is ! ” 
But Dick answered never a word ; his teeth were 
near chattering. 

Soon they saw a piece of the white robe between 
some bushes ; then the leper’s head was thrust forth 
from behind a trunk, and he seemed narrowly to 
scan the neighbourhood before he once again with- 
drew. To their stretched senses, the whole bush 
appeared ali\’e with rustlings and the creak of 
twigs; and they heard the beating of each other’s 
heart. 


94 


THE BLACK ARROW 


Suddenly, with a cry, the leper sprang into the 
open close by, and ran straight upon the lads. 
They, shrieking aloud, separated and began to run 
different ways. But their horrible enemy fastened 
upon Matcham, ran him swiftly down, and had 
him almost instantly a prisoner. The lad gave one 
scream that echoed high and far over the forest, 
he had one spasm of struggling, and then all his 
limbs relaxed, and he fell limp into his captor’s 
arms. 

Dick heard the cry and turned. He saw 
Matcham fall ; and on the instant his spirit and 
his strength revived. With a cry of pity and anger, 
he unslung and bent his arblast. But ere he had 
time to shoot, the leper held up his hand. 

“ Hold your shot, Dickon ! ” cried a familiar 
voice. “ Hold your shot, mad wag ! Know ye 
not a friend ? ” 

And then laying down Matcham on the turf, he 
undid the hood from off his face, and disclosed the 
features of Sir Daniel Brackley. 

“ Sir Daniel ! ” cried Dick. 

“ Ay, by the mass, Sir Daniel ! ” returned the 
knight. “ Would ye shoot upon your guardian, 

rogue? But here is this ” And there he 

broke off, and pointing to Matcham, asked : “ How 
call yfe him, Dick? ” 

“ Nay,” said Dick, “ I call him Master Matcham. 
Know ye him not ? He said ye knew him ! ” 

“ Ay,” replied Sir Daniel, I know the lad ” ; 
and he chuckled. “ But he has fainted ; and, by 
my sooth, he might have had less to faint for! 


THE BLACK ARROW 95 

Hey, Dick? Did I put the fear of death upon 
you ? ” 

“ Indeed, Sir Daniel, ye did that,” said Dick, and 
sighed again at the mere recollection. “Nay, sir, 
saving your respect, I had as lief ’a’ met the devil 
in person ; and to speak truth, I am yet all a-quake. 
But what made ye, sir, in such a guise ? ” 

Sir Daniel’s brow grew suddenly black with 
anger. 

“ What made I ? ” he said. “ Ye do well to mind 
me of it! What? I skulked for my poor life in 
my own wood of Tunstall, Dick. We were ill sped 
at the battle; we but got there to be swept among 
the rout. Where be all my good men-at-arms? 
Dick, by the mass, I know not! We were swept 
down ; the shot fell thick among us ; I have not 
seen one man in my own colours since I saw three 
fall. For myself, I came sound to Shoreby, and 
being mindful of the Black Arrow, got me this 
gown and bell, and came softly by the path for the 
Moat House. There is no disguise to be compared 
with it; the jingle of this bell would scare me the 
stoutest outlaw in the forest; they would all turn 
pale to hear it. At length I came by you and 
Matcham. I could see but evilly through this same 
hood, and was not sure of you, being chiefly, and 
for many a good cause, astonished at the finding 
you together. Moreover, in the open, where I had 
to go slowly and tap with my staff, I feared to dis- 
close myself. But see,” he added, “ this poor shrew 
begins a little to revive. A little good canary will 
comfort me the heart of it.” 


96 THE BLACK ARROW 

The knight, from under his long dress, produced 
a stout bottle, and began to rub the temples and 
wet the lips of the patient, who returned gradually 
to consciousness, and began to roll dim eyes from 
one to another. 

“What cheer, Jack!” said Dick. “It was no 
leper, after all ; it was Sir Daniel ! See ! ” 

“ Swallow me a good draught of this,” said the 
knight. “ This will give you manhood. There- 
after, I will give you both a meal, and we shall all 
three on to Tunstall. For, Dick,” he continued, 
laying forth bread and meat upon the grass, “ I 
will avow to you, in all good conscience, it irks me 
sorely to be safe between four walls. Not since I 
backed a horse have I been pressed so hard ; peril ; 
of life, jeopardy of land and livelihood, and to sum 
up, all these losels in the wood to hunt me down. 
But I be not yet shent. Some of my lads will 
pick me their way home. Hatch hath ten fellows ; 
Selden, he had six. Nay, we shall soon be 
strong again; and if I can but buy my peace 
with my right fortunate and undeserving Lord of 
York, why, Dick, we ’ll be a man again and go 
a-horseback ! ” 

And so saying, the knight filled himself a 
horn of canary, and pledged his ward in dumb 
show. 

“ Selden,” Dick faltered — “ Selden ” 

And he paused again. 

Sir Daniel put down the wine untasted. 

“ How I ” he cried, in a changed voice. “ Sel- 
den? Speak! What of Selden ? ” 


THE BLACK ARROW 97 

Dick stammered forth the tale of the ambush 
and the massacre. 

The knight heard in silence; but as he listened, 
his countenance became convulsed with rage and 
grief. 

“ Now here,” he cried, “ on my right hand, I 
swear to avenge it ! If that I fail, if that I spill not 
ten men’s souls for each, may this hand wither 
from my body! I broke this Duckworth like a 
rush; I beggared him to his door; I burned the 
thatch above his head; I drove him from this 
country; and now, cometh he back to beard me? 
Nay, but, Duckworth, this time it shall go bitter 
hard ! ” 

He was silent for some time, his face working. 

“ Eat I ” he cried, suddenly. “ And you here,” 
he added to Matcham, “ swear me an oath to fol- 
low straight to the Moat House.” 

“ I will pledge mine honour,” replied Matcham. 

“What make I with your honour?” cried the 
knight. “ Swear me upon your mother’s welfare ! ” 

Matcham gave the required oath ; and Sir Daniel 
readjusted the hood over his face, and prepared his 
bell and staff. To see him once more in that ap- 
palling travesty somewhat revived the horror of his 
two companions. But the knight was soon upon 
his feet. 

“ Eat with despatch,” he said, “ and follow me 
yarely to mine house.” 

And with that he set forth again into the woods ; 
and presently after the bell began to sound, num- 
bering his steps, and the two lads sat by their 

7 


98 THE BLACK ARROW 

untasted meal, and heard it die slowly away up- 
hill into the distance. 

“ And so ye go to Tunstall ? ” Dick inquired. 

“ Yea, verily,” said Matcham, ” when needs 
must ! I am braver behind Sir Daniel’s back than 
to his face.” 

They ate hastily, and set forth along the path 
through the airy upper levels of the forest, where 
great beeches stood apart among green lawns, and 
the birds and squirrels made merry on the boughs. 
Two hours later, they began to descend upon the 
other side, and already, among the tree-tops, saw 
before them the red walls and roofs of Tunstall 
House. 

“ Here,” said Matcham, pausing, “ ye shall take 
your leave of your friend Jack, whom y’ are to see 
no more. Come, Dick, forgive him what he did 
amiss, as he, for his part, cheerfully and lovingly 
forgiveth you.” 

“ And wherefore so f ” asked Dick. “ An we 
both go to Tunstall, I shall see you yet again, I 
trow, and that right often.” 

“ Ye ’ll never again see poor Jack Matcham,” 
replied the other, “ that was so fearful and bur- 
thensome, and yet plucked you from the river; 
ye ’ll not see him more, Dick, by mine honour ! ” 
He held his arms open, and the lads embraced and 
kissed. “ And, Dick,” continued Matcham, my 
spirit bodeth ill. Y’ are now to see a new Sir 
Daniel ; for heretofore hath all prospered in his 
hands exceedingly, and fortune followed him ; but 
now, methinks, when his fate hath come upon him, 


THE BLACK ARROW 


99 


and he runs the adventure of his life, he will prove 
but a foul lord to both of us. He may be brave 
in battle, but he hath the liar’s eye; there is fear 
in his eye, Dick, and fear is as cruel as the wolf! 
We go down into that house, St. Mary guide us 
forth again! 

And so they continued their descent in silence, 
and came out at last before Sir Daniel’s forest 
stronghold, where it stood, low and shady, flanked 
with round towers and stained with moss and 
lichen, in the lilied waters of the moat. Even as 
they appeared, the doors were opened, the bridge 
lowered, and Sir Daniel himself, with Hatch and 
the parson at his side, stood ready to receive them. 



BOOK II 


THE MOAT HOUSE 



CHAPTER I 

• DICK ASKS QUESTIONS 

T he Moat House stood not far from the 
rough forest road. Externally, it was a 
compact rectangle of red stone, flanked 
at each corner by a round tower, pierced for arch- 
ery and battlemented at the top. Within, it en- 
closed a narrow court. The moat was perhaps 
twelve feet wide, crossed by a single drawbridge. 
It was supplied with water by a trench, leading to 
a forest pool and commanded, through its whole 
length, from the battlements of the two southern 
towers. Except that one or two tall and thick trees 
had been suffered to remain within half a bowshot 
of the walls, the house was in a good posture for 
defence. 

In the court, Dick found a part of the garrison, 
busy with preparations for defence, and gloomily 
discussing the chances of a siege. Some were 
making arrows, some sharpening swords that had 
long been disused ; but even as they worked, they 
shook their heads. 

Twelve of Sir Daniel’s party had escaped the 
battle, run the gauntlet through the wood, and 
come alive to the Moat House. But out of this 
dozen, three had been gravely wounded: two at 


104 the black arrow 

Risingham in the disorder of the rout, one by John 
Amend- All’s marksmen as he crossed the forest. 
This raised the force of the garrison, counting 
Hatch, Sir Daniel, and young Shelton, to twenty- 
two effective men. And more might be contin- 
ually expected to arrive. The danger lay not 
therefore in the lack of men. 

It was the terror of the Black Arrow that op- 
pressed the spirits of the garrison. For their open 
foes of the party of York, in these most changing 
times, they felt but a far-away concern. “ The 
world,” as people said in those days, “ might 
change again ” iDefore harm came. But for their 
neighbours in the wood, they trembled. It was 
not Sir Daniel alone who was a mark for hatred. 
His men, conscious of impunity, had carried them- 
selves cruelly through all the country. Harsh com- 
mands had been harshly executed ; and of the little 
band that now sat talking in the court, there was 
not one but had been guilty of some act of oppres- 
sion or barbarity. And now, by the fortune of 
war, Sir Daniel had become powerless to protect 
his instruments; now, by the issue of some hours 
of battle, at which many of them had not been 
present, they had all become punishable traitors 
to the State, outside the buckler of the law. a 
shrunken company in a poor fortress that was 
hardly tenable, and exposed upon all sides to the 
just resentment of their victims. Nor had there 
been lacking grisly advertisements of what they 
might expect. 

At different periods of the evening and the night, 


THE BLACK ARROW 105 

no fewer than seven riderless horses had come 
neighing in terror to the gate. Two were from 
Selden's troop; five belonged to men who had 
ridden with Sir Daniel to the field. Lastly, a little 
before dawn, a spearman had come staggering to 
the moat side, pierced by three arrows; even as 
they carried him in, his spirit had departed ; but by 
the words that he uttered in his agony, he must 
have been the last survivor of a considerable com- 
pany of men. 

Hatch himself showed, under his sun-brown, the 
pallor of anxiety; and when he had taken Dick 
aside and learned the fate of Selden, he fell on a 
stone bench and fairly wept. The others, from 
where they sat on stools or doorsteps in the sunny 
angle of the court, looked at him with wonder and 
alarm, but none ventured to inquire the cause of 
his emotion. 

“ Nay, Master Shelton,” said Hatch, at last — 

nay, but what said I ? We shall all go. Selden 
was a man of his hands ; he was like a brother to 
me. Well, he has gone second; well, we shall all 
follow ! For what said their knave rhyme ? — 
‘ A black arrow in each black heart.’ Was it not 
so it went? Appleyard, Selden, Smith, old Hum- 
phrey gone ; and there lieth poor John Carter, cry- 
ing, poor sinner, for the priest.” 

Dick gave ear. Out of a low window, hard by 
where they were talking, groans and murmurs 
came to his ear. 

“ Lieth he there ? ” he asked. 

“ Ay, in the second porter’s chamber,” answered 


io6 THE BLACK ARROW 


Hatch. “ We could not bear him further, soul and 
body were so bitterly at odds. At every step we 
lifted him, he thought to wend. But now, me- 
thinks, it is the soul that suffereth. Ever for the 
priest he crieth, and Sir Oliver, I wot not why, still 
cometh not. ’T will be a long shrift ; but poor 
Appleyard and poor Selden, they had none.” 

Dick stooped to the window and looked in. The 
little cell was low and dark, but he could make 
out the wounded soldier lying moaning on his 
pallet. 

“ Carter, poor friend, how goeth it ? ” he asked. 

“ Master Shelton,” returned the man, in an ex- 
cited whisper, “ for the dear light of heaven, bring 
the priest. Alack, I am sped ; I am brought very 
low down; my hurt is to the death. Ye may do 
me no more service : this shall be the last. Now, 
for my poor soul’s interest, and as a loyal gentle- 
man, bestir you; for I have that matter on my 
conscience that shall drag me deep.” 

He groaned, and Dick heard the grating of his 
teeth, whether in pain or terror. 

Just then Sir Daniel appeared upon the threshold 
of the hall. He had a letter in one hand. 

“ Lads,” he said, “ we have had a shog, we have 
had a tumble; wherefore, then, deny it? Rather 
it imputeth to get speedily again to saddle. This 
old Harry the Sixt has had the undermost. Wash 
we, then, our hands of him. I have a good friend 
that rideth next the duke, the Lord of Wensleydale. 
Well, I have writ a letter to my friend, praying his 
good lordship, and offering large satisfaction for 


THE BLACK ARROW 107 

the past and reasonable surety for the future. 
Doubt not but he will lend a favourable ear. A 
prayer without gifts is like a song without music: 
I surfeit him with promises, boys — I spare not to 
promise. What, then, is lacking? Nay, a great 
thing — wherefore should I deceive you ? — a 
great thing and a difficult : a messenger to bear it. 
The woods — y’ are not ignorant of that — lie 
thick with our ill-willers. Haste is most needful ; 
but 'Without sleight and caution all is naught. 
Which, then, of this company will take me this 
letter, bear me it to my Lord of Wensleydale, and 
bring me the answer back? ” 

One man instantly arose. 

“ I will, an ’t like you,” said he. “ I will even 
risk my carcase.” 

“ Nay, Dicky Bowyer, not so,” returned the 
knight. “ It likes me not. Y’ are sly indeed, but 
not speedy. Ye were a laggard ever.” 

“ An ’t be so. Sir Daniel, here am I,” cried 
another. 

“ The saints forfend ! ” said the knight. “ Y’ 
are speedy, but not sly. Ye would blunder me 
head-foremost into John Amend-All’s camp. I 
thank you both for your good courage; but, in 
sooth, it may not be.” 

Then Hatch offered himself, and he also was 
refused. 

“ I want you here, good Bennet ; y’ are my right 
hand, indeed,” returned the knight ; and then sev- 
eral coming forward in a group, Sir Daniel at 
length selected one and gave him the letter. 


io8 THE BLACK ARROW 


“ Now/’ he said, “ upon your good speed and 
better discretion we do all depend. Bring me a 
good answer back, and before three weeks, I will 
have purged my forest of these vagabonds that 
brave us to our faces. But mark it well, Throg- 
morton : the matter is not easy. Ye must steal 
forth under night, and go like a fox ; and how ye 
are to cross Till I know not, neither by the bridge 
nor ferry.” 

” I can swim,” returned Throgmorton. “ I will 
come soundly, fear not.” 

“ Well, friend, get ye to the buttery,” replied Sir 
Daniel. “ Ye shall swim first of all in nut-brown 
ale.” And with that he turned back into the hall. 

“ Sir Daniel hath a wise tongue,” said Hatch, 
aside, to Dick. “ See, now, where many a lesser 
man had glossed the matter over, he speaketh it 
out plainly to his company. Here is a danger, ’a 
saith, and here difficulty; and jesteth in the very 
saying. Nay, by St. Barbary, he is a born cap- 
tain ! Not a man but he is some deal heartened up ! 
See how they fall again to work.” 

This praise of Sir Daniel put a thought in the 
lad’s head. 

“ Bennet,” he said, “ how came my father by his 
end? ” 

Ask me not that,” replied Hatch. “ I had no 
hand nor knowledge in it; furthermore, I will 
even be silent. Master Dick. For look you, in a 
man’s own business there he may speak; but of 
hearsay matters and of common talk, not so. Ask 
me Sir Oliver — ay, or Carter, if ye will ; not me.” 


THE BLACK ARROW 109 

And Hatch set off to make the rounds, leaving 
Dick in a muse. 

“Wherefore would he not tell me?” thought 
the lad. “ And wherefore named he Carter? Car- 
ter — nay, then Carter had a hand in it, perchance.” 

He entered the house, and passing some little 
way along a flagged and vaulted passage, came to 
the door of the cell where the hurt man lay groan- 
ing. ,A.t his entrance Carter started eagerly. 

“ Have ye brought the priest? ” he cried. 

“ Not yet awhile,” returned Dick. “ Y’ ’ave a 
word to tell me first. How came my father, Harry 
Shelton, by his death ? ” 

The man’s face altered instantly. 

“ I know not,” he replied, doggedly. 

“ Nay, ye know well,” returned Dick. “ Seek 
not to put me by.” 

“ I tell you I know not,” repeated Carter. 

“ Then,” said Dick, “ ye shall die unshriven. 
Here am I, and here shall stay. There shall no 
priest come near you, rest assured. For of what 
avail is penitence, an ye have no mind to right those 
wrongs ye had a hand in? and without penitence, 
confession is but mockery.” 

“Ye say what ye mean not. Master Dick,” said 
Carter, composedly. “ It is ill threatening the 
dving, and becometh you (to speak truth) little. 
And for as little as it commends you, it shall serve 
you less. Stay, an ye please. Ye will condemn my^ 
soul — ye shall learn nothing ! There is my last 
word to you.” And the wounded man turned 
upon the other side. 


no THE BLACK ARROW 


Now, Dick, to say truth, had spoken hastily, and 
was ashamed of his threat. But he made one more 
effort. 

“ Carter,” he said, “ mistake me not. I know ye 
were but an instrument in the hands of others; a 
churl must obey his lord ; I would not bear heavily 
on such ah one. But I begin to learn upon many 
sides that this great duty lieth on my youth and 
ignorance, to avenge my father. Prithee, then, 
good Carter, set aside the memory of my threaten- 
ings, and in pure good-will and honest penitence 
give me a word of help.” 

The wounded man lay silent ; nor, say what 
Dick pleased, could he extract another word from 
him. 

“ Well,” said Dick, “ I will go call the priest to 
you as ye desired ; for howsoever ye be in fault 
to me or mine, I would not be willingly in fault to 
any, least of all to one upon the last change.” 

Again the old soldier heard him without speech 
or motion ; even his groans he had suppressed ; and 
as Dick turned and left the room, he was filled with 
admiration for that rugged fortitude. 

“ And yet,” he thought, “ of what use is courage 
without wit ? Had his hands been clean, he would 
have spoken ; his silence did confess the secret 
louder than words. Nay, upon all sides, proof 
floweth on me. Sir Daniel, he or his men, hath 
done this thing.” 

Dick paused in the stone passage with a heavy 
heart. At that hour, in the ebb of Sir Daniel’s for- 
tune, when he was beleaguered by the archers of 


THE BLACK ARROW iii 


the Black Arrow and proscribed by the victorious 
Yorkists, was Dick, also, to turn upon the man 
who had nourished and taught him, who had se- 
verely punished, indeed, but yet unwearyingly pro- 
tected his youth ? The necessity, if it should prove 
to be one, was cruel. 

“ Pray Heaven he be innocent ! ” he said. 

And then steps sounded on the flagging, and Sir 
Oliver came gravely towards the lad. 

“ One seeketh you earnestly,” said Dick. 

“ I am upon the way, good Richard,” said the 
priest. “ It is this poor Carter. Alack, he is be- 
yond cure.” 

“ And yet his soul is sicker than his body,” 
answered Dick. 

“ Have ye seen him ? ” asked Sir Oliver, with a 
manifest start. 

“ I do but come from him,” replied Dick. 

“What said he? what said he?” snapped the 
priest, with extraordinary eagerness. 

“ He but cried for you the more piteously. Sir 
Oliver. It were well done to go the faster, for his 
hurt is grievous,” returned the lad. 

“ I am straight for him,” was the reply. “ Well, 
we have all our sins. We must all come to our 
latter day, good Richard.” 

“ Ay, sir ; and it were well if we all came 
fairly,” answered Dick. 

The priest dropped his eyes, and with an in- 
audible benediction hurried on. 

“ He, too ! ” thought Dick — “ he, that taught . 
me in piety! Nay, then, what a world is this, if 


,112 THE BLACK ARROW 


all that care for me be blood-giiilty of my father’s 
death? Vengeance! Alas! what a sore fate is 
mine, if I must be avenged upon my friends ! ” 

The thought put Matcham in his head. He 
smiled at the remembrance of his strange com- 
panion, and then wondered where he was. Ever 
since they had come together to the doors of the 
]\Ioat House the younger lad had disappeared, and 
Dick began to weary for a word with him. 

About an hour after, mass being somewhat 
hastily run through by Sir Oliver, the company 
gathered in the hall for dinner. It was a long, low 
apartment, strewn with green rushes, and the walls 
hung with arras in a design of savage men and 
questioning bloodhounds ; here and there hung 
spears and bows and bucklers ; a fire blazed in the 
big chimney; there were arras-covered benches 
round the wall, and in the midst the table, fairly 
spread, awaited the arrival of the diners. Neither- 
Sir Daniel nor his lady made their appearance. Sir 
Oliver himself was absent, and here again there 
was no word of Matcham. Dick began to grow 
alarmed, to recall his companion’s melancholy fore- 
bodings, and to wonder to himself if any foul play 
had befallen him in that house. 

After dinner he found Goody Hatch, who was 
hurrying to my Lady Brackley. 

“ Goody,” he said, “ where is Master Matcham, 
I prithee? I saw ye go in with him when we 
arrived.” > 

The old woman laughed aloud. 

“ Ah, Master Dick,” she said, “ y’ have a fa- 


THE BLACK ARROW iij 

mous bright eye in your head, to be sure!” and 
laughed again. 

“ Nay, but where is he, indeed? ” persisted Dick. 

“ Ye will never see him more,” she returned — • 
“ never. It is sure.” 

“ An I do not,” returned the lad, “ I will know 
the reason why. He came not hither of his full 
free will ; such as I am, I am his best protector, and 
I will see him justly used. There be too many 
mysteries ; I do begin to weary of the game 1 ” 

But as Dick was speaking, a heavy hand fell on 
his shoulder. It was Bennet Hatch that had come 
unperceived behind him. With a jerk of his 
thumb, the retainer dismissed his wife. 

“ Friend Dick,” he said, as soon as they were 
alone, “ are ye a moon-struck natural ? An ye 
leave not certain things in peace, ye were better 
in the salt sea than here in Tunstall Moat House. 
Y’ have questioned me ; y’ have baited Carter ; y’ 
have frighted the jack-priest with hints. Bear ye 
more wisely, fool ; and even now, when Sir Daniel 
calleth you, show me a smooth face for the love of 
wisdom. Y’ are to be sharply questioned. Look 
to your answers.” 

“ Hatch,” returned Dick, “ in all this I smell a 
guilty conscience.” 

“ An ye go not the wiser, ye will soon smell 
blood,” replied Bennet. “ I do but warn you. And 
here cometh one to call you.” 

And indeed, at that very moment, a messenger 
came across the court to summon Dick into the 
presence of Sir Daniel. 


8 


CHAPTER 11 

THE TWO OATHS 


S IR DANIEL was in the hall ; there he paced 
angrily before the fire, awaiting Dick’s 
arrival. None was by except Sir Oliver, and 
he sat discreetly backward, thumbing and mutter- 
ing over his breviary. 

“ Y’ have sent for me. Sir Daniel? ” said young 
Shelton. 

“ I have sent for you, indeed,” replied the knight. 
“ For what cometh to mine ears ? Have I been to 
’'’•ou so heavy a guardian that ye make haste to 
credit ill of me? Or sith that ye see me, for the 
nonce, some worsted, do ye think to quit my party? 
By the mass, your father was not so! Those he 
was near, those he stood by, come wind or weather. 
But you, Dick, y’ are a fair-day friend, it seemeth, 
and now seek to clear yourself of your allegiance.” 

“ An ’t please you. Sir Daniel, not so,” returned 
Dick, firmly. “ I am grateful and faithful, where 
gratitude and faith are due. And before more is 
said, I thank you, and I thank Sir Oliver; y’ have 
great claims upon me both — none can have more ; 
I were a hound if I forgot them.” 

“ It is well,” said Sir Daniel ; and then, rising 
into anger : “ Gratitude and faith are words, Dick 


THE BLACK ARROW 115 

Shelton,” he continued; “ but I look to deeds. In 
this hour of my peril, when my name is attainted, 
when my lands are forfeit, when this wood is full 
of men that hunger and thirst for my destruction, 
what doth gratitude ? what doth faith ? I have but 
a little company remaining; is it grateful or faith- 
ful to poison me their hearts with your insidious 
whisperings ? Save me from such gratitude ! But, 
come, now, what is it ye wish ? Speak ; we are 
here to answer. If ye have aught against me, 
stand forth and say it.” 

“ Sir,” replied Dick, “ my father fell when I Avas 
yet a child. It hath come to mine ears that he was 
foully done by. It hath come to mine ears — for 
I will not dissemble — that ye had a hand in his 
undoing. And in all verity, I shall not be at peace 
in mine own mind, nor very clear to help you, till 
I have certain resolution of these doubts.” 

Sir Daniel sat down in a deep settle. He 
took his chin in his hand and looked at Dick 
fixedly. 

“ And ye think I would be guardian to the man’s 
son that I had murdered ? ” he asked. 

“ Nay,” said Dick, “ pardon me if I answer 
churlishly ; but indeed ye know right well a ward- 
ship is most profitable. All these years have ye not 
enjoyed my revenues, and led my men? Have ye 
not still my marriage? I wot not what it may be 
worth — it is worth something. Pardon me again ; 
but if ye were base enough to slay a man under 
trust, here were, perhaps, reasons enough to move 
you to the lesser baseness.” 


ii6 THE BLACK ARROW 


“ When I was a lad of your years,” returned 
Sir Daniel, sternly, “ my mind had not so turned 
upon suspicions. And Sir Oliver here,” he added, 
“ why should he, a priest, be guilty of this act? ” 

“ Nay, Sir Daniel,” said Dick, “ but where the 
master biddeth there will the dog go. It is well 
known this priest is but your instrument. I speak 
very freely; the time is not for courtesies. Even 
as I speak, so would I be answered. And answer 
get J none ! Ye but put more questions. I rede ye 
be ware, Sir Daniel ; for in this way ye will but 
nourish and not satisfy my doubts.” 

“ I will answer you fairly. Master Richard,” 
said the knight. “ Were I to pretend ye have not 
stirred my wrath, I were no honest man. But I 
will be just even in anger. Come to me with these 
words when y’ are grown and come to man' s estate, 
and I am no longer your guardian, and so helpless 
to resent them. Come to me then, and I will an- 
swer you as ye merit, with a buffet in the mouth. 
Till then ye have two courses: either swallow me 
down these insults, keep a silent tongue, and fight 
in the meanwhile for the man that fed and fought 
for your infancy ; or else — the door standeth open, 
the woods are full of mine enemies — go.” 

The spirit with which these words were uttered, 
the looks with which they were accompanied, stag- 
gered Dick ; and yet he could not but observe that 
he had got no answer. 

“ I desire nothing more earnestly. Sir Daniel, 
than to believe you,” he replied. “ Assure me ye 
ere free from this.” 


THE BLACK ARROW 117^ 

{ 

“ Will ye take my word of honour, Dick? ” in- 
quired the knight. 

“ That would I,” answered the lad. 

“ I give it you,” returned Sir Daniel. “ Upon 
my word of honour, upon the eternal welfare of 
my spirit, and as I shall answer for my deeds here- 
after, I had no hand nor portion in your father's 
death.” 

He extended his hand, and Dick took it eagerly. 
Neither of them observed the priest, who, at the 
pronunciation of that solemn and false oath, had 
half arisen from his seat in an agony of horror and 
remorse. 

“ Ah,” cried Dick, “ ye must find it in your 
great-heartedness to pardon me ! I was a churl, in- 
deed, to doubt of you. But ye have my hand upon 
it ; I will doubt no more.” 

“ Nay, Dick,” replied Sir Daniel, “ y’ are for- 
given. Ye know not the world and its calumnious 
nature.” 

“ I was the more to blame,” added Dick, “ in 
that the rogues pointed, not directly at yourself, 
but at Sir Oliver.” 

As he spoke, he turned towards the priest, and 
paused in the middle of the last word. This tall, 
ruddy, corpulent, high-stepping man had fallen, 
you might say, to pieces; his colour was gone, his 
limbs were relaxed, his lips stammered prayers; 
and now, when Dick’s eyes were fixed upon him 
suddenly, he cried out aloud, like some wild ani- 
mal, and buried his face in his hands. 

Sir Daniel was by him in two strides, and shook’ 


ii8 THE BLACK ARROW 


him fiercely by the shoulder. At the same moment 
Dick’s suspicions reawakened. 

“ Nay,” he said, “ Sir Oliver may swear also. 
'T was him they accused.” 

“ He shall swear,” said the knight. 

Sir Oliver speechlessly waved his arms. 

“Ay, by the mass! but ye shall swear,” cried 
Sir Daniel, beside himself with fury. “ Here, upon 
this book, ye shall swear,” he continued, picking 
up the breviary, which had fallen to the ground. 
“What! Ye make me doubt you! Swear, I say; 
swear ! ” 

But the priest was still incapable of speech. His 
terror of Sir Daniel, his terror of perjury, risen to 
about an equal height, strangled him. 

And just then, through the high, stained-glass 
window of the hall, a black arrow crashed, and 
struck, and stuck quivering, in the midst of the 
long table. 

Sir Oliver, with a loud scream, fell fainting on 
the rushes; while the knight, followed by Dick, 
dashed into the court and up the nearest cork- 
screw stair to the battlements. The sentries were 
all on the alert. The sun shone quietly on green 
lawns dotted with trees, and on the wooded hills 
of the forest which enclosed the view. There was 
no sign of a besieger. 

“Whence came that shot?” asked the knight. 

“ From yonder clump. Sir Daniel,” returned a 
sentinel. 

The knight stood a little, musing. Then he 
turned to Dick. “ Dick,” he said, “ keep me an 


THE BLACK ARROW 119 

eye upon these men ; I leave you in charg-e here. 
As for the priest, he shall clear himself, or I will 
know the reason why. I do almost begin to share 
in your suspicions. He shall swear, trust me, or 
we shall prove him guilty.” 

Dick answered somewhat coldly, and the knight, 
giving him a piercing glance, hurriedly returned to 
the hall. His first glance was for the arrow. It 
was the first of these missiles he had seen, and as 
he turned it to and fro, the dark hue of it touched 
him with some fear.. Again there was some writ- 
ing : one word — “ Earthed.” 

“ Ay,” he broke out, “ they know I am home, 
then. Earthed ! Ay, but there is not a dog among 
them fit to dig me out.” 

Sir Oliver had come to himself, and now 
scrambled to his feet. 

“ Alack, Sir Daniel ! ” he moaned, “ y ’ave 
sworn a dread oath; y’ are doomed to the end of 
time.” 

“ Ay,” returned the knight, “ I have sworn an 
oath, indeed, thou chucklehead; but thyself shalt 
swear a greater. It shall be on the blessed cross 
of Holywood. Look to it; get the words ready. 
It shall be sworn to-night.” 

“ Now, may Heaven lighten you ! ” replied the 
priest ; “ may Heaven incline your heart from this 
iniquity! ” 

“ Look you, my good father,” said Sir Daniel, 
“ if y’ are for piety, I say no more; ye begin late, 
that is all. But if y’ are in any sense bent upon 
wisdom, hear me. This lad beginneth to irk me 


120 THE BLACK ARROW 


like a wasp. I have a need for him, for I would 
sell his marriage. But I tell you, in all plainness, 
if that he continue to weary me, he shall go join 
.his father. I give orders now to change him to 
the chamber above the chapel. If that ye can swear 
your innocency with a good, solid oath and an 
assured countenance, it is well; the lad will be at 
peace a little, and I will spare him. If that ye 
stammer or blench, or anyways boggle at the 
swearing, he will not believe you ; and by the 
mass, he shall die. There is for your thinking 
on.” 

“ The chamber above the chapel ! ” gasped the 
priest. 

“ That same,” replied the knight. “ So if ye 
desire to save him, save him ; and if ye desire not, 
prithee, go to, and let me be at peace! For an I 
had been a hasty man, I would already have put 
my sword through you, for your intolerable cow- 
ardice and folly. Have ye chosen? Say! ” 

“ I have chosen,” said the priest. “ Heaven 
pardon me, I will do evil for good. I will swear 
for the lad’s sake.” 

“ So is it best ! ” said Sir Daniel. “ Send for 
him, then, speedily. Ye shall see him alone. Yet 
I shall have an eye on you. I shall be here in the 
panel room.” 

The knight raised the arras and let it fall again 
behind him. There was the sound of a spring 
opening ; then followed the creaking of trod stairs. 

Sir Oliver, left alone, cast a timorous glance 
Upward at the arras-covered wall, and crossed 


THE BLACK ARROW i2) 


himself with every appearance of terror and 
contrition. 

“ Nay, if he is in the chapel room,” the priest 
murmured, “ were it at my soul’s cost, I must save 
him.” 

Three minutes later, Dick, who had been sum- 
moned by another messenger, found Sir Oliver 
standing by the hall table, resolute and pale. 

“ Richard Shelton,” he said, “ ye have required 
an oath from me. I might complain, I might deny 
you ; but my heart is moved toward you for the 
past, and I will even content you as ye choose. 
By the true cross of Holy wood, I did not slay your 
father.” 

“ Sir Oliver,” returned Dick, “ when first we 
read John Amend-All’s paper, I was convinced of 
so much. But suffer me to put two questions. Ye 
did not slay him; granted. But had ye no hand 
in it? ” 

“ None,” said Sir Oliver. And at the same time 
he began to contort his face, and signal with his 
mouth and eyebrows, like one who desired to con- 
vey a warning, yet dared not utter a sound. 

Dick regarded him in wonder; then he turned 
and looked all about him at the empty hall. 

“ What make ye? ” he inquired. 

“ Why, naught,” returned the priest, hastily 
smoothing his countenance. “ I make naught ; I 
do but suffer; I am sick. I — I — prithee, Dick, 
I must begone. On the true cross of Holywood, I 
am clean innocent alike of violence or treachery. 
Content ye, good lad. Farewell ! ” 


122 THE BLACK ARROW 


And he made his escape from the apartment with 
unusual alacrity. 

Dick remained rooted to the spot, his eyes wan- 
dering about the room, his face a changing picture 
of various emotions, wonder, doubt, suspicion, and 
amusement. Gradually, as his mind grew clearer, 
suspicion took the upper hand, and was succeeded 
by certainty of the worst. He raised his head, and, 
as he did so, violently started. High upon the wall 
there was the figure of a savage hunter woven in 
the tapestry. With one hand he held a horn to 
his mouth ; in the other he brandished a stout spear. 
His face was dark, for he was meant to represent 
an African. 

Now, here was what had startled Richard Shel- 
ton. The sun had moved away from the hall 
windows, and at the same time the fire had blazed 
up high on the wide hearth, and shed a changeful 
glow upon the roof and hangings. In this light 
the figure of the black hunter had winked at him 
with a white eyelid. 

He continued staring at the eye. The light 
shone upon it like a gem; it was liquid, it was 
alive. Again the white eyelid closed upon it for a 
fraction of a second, and the next moment it was 
gone. 

There could be no mistake. The live eye that 
had been watching him through a hole in the tap- 
estry was gone. The firelight no longer shone on 
a reflecting surface. 

And instantly Dick awoke to the terrors of his 
position. Hatch’s warning, the mute signals of the 


THE BLACK ARROW 123 

priest, this eye that had observed him from the 
wall, ran together in his mind. He saw he had 
been put upon his trial, that he had once more 
betrayed his suspicions, and that, short of some 
miracle, he was lost, 

“ If I cannot get me forth out of this house,” 
he thought, “ I am a dead man ! And this poor 
Matcham, too — to what a cockatrice’s nest have 
I not led him ! ” 

He was still so thinking, when there came one 
in haste, to bid him help in changing his arms, his 
clothing, and his two or three books, to a new 
chamber. 

“ A new chamber ? ” he repeated. “ Wherefore 
so? What chamber ? ” 

“ ’T is one above the chapel,” answered the 
messenger. 

“ It hath stood long empty,” said Dick, musing. 
“ What manner of room is it? ” 

“ Nay, a brave room,” returned the man. “ But 
yet” — lowering his voice — “they call it haunted.’"’ 

“Haunted?” repeated Dick, with a chill, “T 
have not heard of it. Nay, then, and by whom? ” 

The messenger looked about him ; and then, in 
a low whisper, “ By the sacrist of St. John’s,” he 
said. “ They had him there to sleep one night, 
and in the morning — whew ! — he was gone. The 
devil had taken him, they said ; the more betoken, 
he had drunk late the night before.” 

Dick followed the man with black forebodings. 


CHAPTER III 


THE ROOM OVER THE CHAPEL 
ROM the battlements nothing further was 



observed. The sun journeyed westward. 


JL, and at last went down; but, to the eyes 
of all these eager sentinels, no living thing ap- 
peared in the neighbourhood of Tunstall House. 

When the night was at length fairly come, 
Throgmorton was led to a room overlooking an 
angle of the moat. Thence he was lowered with 
every precaution ; the ripple of his swimming was 
audible for a brief period ; then a black figure was 
observed to land by the branches of a willow and 
crawl away among the grass. For some half-hour 
Sir Daniel and Hatch stood eagerly giving ear; 
but all remained quiet. The messenger had got 
away in safety. 

Sir Daniel’s brow grew clearer. He turned to 
Hatch. 

“ Bennet,” he said, “ this John Amend-All is no 
more than a man, ye see. He sleepeth. We will 
make a good end of him, go to ! ” 

All the afternoon and evening, Dick had been 
ordered hither and thither, one command following 
another, till he was bewildered with the number 
and the hurry of commissions. All that time he 


THE BLACK ARROW 125 

had seen no more of Sir Oliver, and nothing of 
Matcham ; and yet both the priest and the young 
lad ran continually in his mind. It was now his 
chief purpose to escape from Tunstall Moat House 
as speedily as might be; and yet, before he went, 
he desired a word with both of these. 

At length, with a lamp in one hand, he mounted 
to his new apartment. It was large, low, and some- 
what dark. The window looked upon the moat, 
and although it was so high up, it was heavily 
.barred. The bed was luxurious, with one pillow 
of down and one of lavender, and a red coverlet 
worked in a pattern of roses. All about the walls 
were cupboards, locked and padlocked, and con- 
cealed from view by hangings of dark-coloured 
arras. Dick made the round, lifting the arras, 
sounding the panels, seeking vainly to open the 
cupboards. He assured himself that the door was 
strong and the bolt solid ; then he set down his 
lamp upon a bracket, and once more looked all 
around. 

For what reason had he been given this cham- 
ber? It was larger and finer than his own. Could 
it conceal a snare? Was there a secret entrance? 
Was it, indeed, haunted? His blood ran a little 
chilly in his veins. 

• Immediately over him the heavy foot of a sentry 
trod the leads. Below him, he knew, was the 
arched roof of the chapel ; and next to the chapel 
was the hall. Certainly there was a secret passage 
in the hall ; the eye that had watched him from 
the arras gave him proof of that. Was it not more 


126 THE BLACK ARROW 


than probable that the passage extended to the 
chapel, and, if so, that it had an opening in his 
room ? 

To sleep in such a place, he felt, would be fool- 
hardy. He made his weapons ready, and took 
his position in a corner of the room behind the 
door. If ill was intended, he would sell his life 
dear. 

The sound of many feet, the challenge, and the 
password sounded overhead along the battlements ; 
the watch was being changed. 

And just then there came a scratching at the 
door of the chamber ; it grew a little louder ; then 
a whisper: 

“ Dick, Dick, it is I ! ” 

Dick ran to the door, drew the bolt, and ad- 
mitted Matcham. He was very pale, and carried 
a lamp in one hand and a drawn dagger in the 
other. 

“ Shut me the door,” he whispered. “ Swift, 
Dick! This house is full of spies; I hear their 
feet follow me in the corridors ; I hear them 
breathe behind the arras.” 

“ Well, content you,” returned Dick, “ it is 
closed. We are safe for this while, if there be 
safety anywhere within these walls. But my heart 
is glad to see you. By the mass, lad, I thought 
ye were sped! Where hid ye? ” 

“ It matters not,” returned Matcham. “ Since 
we be met, it matters not. But, Dick, are your 
eyes open? Have they told you of to-morrow's 
doings? ” 


THE BLACK ARROW 127 

“ Not they,” replied Dick. “ What make they 
to-morrow ? ” 

“ To-morrow, or to-night, I know not,” said the 
other, “ but one time or other, Dick, they do in- 
tend upon your life. I had the proof of it ; I have 
heard them whisper; nay, they as good as told 
me.” 

“ Ay,” returned Dick, “ is it so? I had thought 
as much.” 

And he told him the day’s occurrences at length. 

When it was done, Matcham arose and began, 
in turn, to examine the apartment. 

“ No,” he said, “ there is no entrance visible. 
Yet ’t is a pure certainty there is one. Dick, I 
will stay by you. An y’ are to die, I will die with 
you. And I can help — look ! I have stolen a 
dagger — I will do my best ! And meanwhile, an 
ye know of any issue, any sally-port we could get 
opened, or any window that we might descend by, 
I will most joyfully face any jeopardy to flee with 
you.” 

“ Jack,” said Dick, “ by the mass. Jack, y’ are 
the best soul, and the truest, and the bravest in all 
England ! Give me your hand. Jack.” 

And he grasped the other’s hand in silence. 

“ I will tell you,” he resumed. “ There is a 
window, out of which the messenger descended; 
the rope should still be in the chamber. ’T is a 
hope.” 

“Hist!” said Matcham. 

Both gave ear. There was a sound below the 
floor ; then it paused, and then beean again. 


128 THE BLACK ARROW 


“ Some one walketh in the room below,” whis- 
pered Matcham. 

“ Na}’’,” returned Dick, “ there is no room be- 
low ; we are above the chapel. It is my murderer 
in the secret passage. Well, let him come; it shall 
go hard with him ” ; and he ground his teeth. 

Blow me the lights out,” said the other. “ Per- 
chance he will betray himself.” 

They blew out both the lamps and lay still as 
death. The footfalls underneath were very soft, 
but they were clearly audible. Several times they 
came and went; and then there was a loud jar of 
a key turning in a lock, followed by a considerable 
silence. 

Presently the steps began again, and then, all of 
a sudden, a chink of light appeared in the planking 
of the room in a far corner. It widened ; a trap- 
door was being opened, letting in a gush of light. 
They could see the strong hand pushing it up ; and 
Dick raised his cross-bow, waiting for the head to 
follow. 

But now there came an interruption. From a 
distant corner of the Moat House shouts began to 
be heard, and first one voice, and then several, cry- 
ing aloud upon a name. This noise had plainly 
disconcerted the murderer, for the trap-door was 
silently lowered to its place, and the steps hurriedly 
returned, passed once more close below the lads, 
and died away in the distance. 

Here was a moment’s respite. Dick breathed 
deep, and then, and not till then, he gave ear to the 
disturbance which had interrupted the attack, and 


THE BLACK ARROW 129 

which was now rather increasing than diminishing. 
All about the Moat House feet were running, doors 
were opening and slamming, and still the voice of 
Sir Daniel towered above all this bustle, shouting 
for “ Joanna.'"’ 

“Joanna!” repeated Dick. “Why, who the 
murrain should this be? Here is no Joanna, nor 
ever hath been. What meaneth it? ” 

Matcham was silent. He seemed to have drawn 
further away. But only a little faint starlight en- 
tered by the window, and at the far end of the 
apartment, where the pair were, the darkness was 
complete. 

“ Jack,” said Dick, “ I wot not where ye were 
all day. Saw ye this Joanna? ” 

“ Nay,” returned Matcham, “ I saw her not.” 

“ Nor heard tell of her?” he pursued. 

The steps drew nearer. Sir Daniel was still 
roaring the name of Joanna from the courtyard. 

“ Did ye hear of her ? ” repeated Dick. 

“ I heard of her,” said Matcham. 

“ How your voice twitters ! What aileth you ? ” 
said Dick. “ ’T is a most excellent good fortune, 
this Joanna ; it will take their minds from us.” 

“ Dick,” cried Matcham, “ I am lost ; we are 
both lost. Let us flee if there be yet time. They 
will not rest till they have found me. Or, see! 
let me go forth; when they have found me, ye 
may flee. Let me forth, Dick — good Dick, let 
me away ! ” 

She was groping for the bolt, when Dick at last 
comprehended. 


9 


130 THE BLACK ARROW 

“ By the mass ! ” he cried, “ y’ are no Jack ; y’ 
are Joanna Sedley; y are the maid that would not 
marry me ! ” 

The girl paused, and stood silent and motionless. 
Dick, too, was silent for a little; then he spoke 
again. 

Joanna,” he said, “ y’ ’ave saved my life, and 
I have saved yours ; and we have seen blood flow, 
and been friends and enemies — ay, and I took my 
belt to thrash you ; and all that time I thought ye 
were a boy. But now death has me, and my time \s 
out, and before I die I must say this: Y’ are the 
best maid and the bravest under heaven, and, if 
only I could live, I would marry you blithely ; and, 
live or die, I love you.” 

She answered nothing. 

“ Come,” he said, “ speak up. Jack. Come, be a 
good maid, and say ye love me! ” 

“ Why, Dick,” she cried, “ would I be here? ” 

“ Well, see ye here,” continued Dick, “ an we 
but escape whole we ’ll marry ; and an we ’re to 
die, we die, and there ’s an end on ’t. But now that 
I think, how found ye my chamber ? ” 

“ I asked it of Dame Hatch,” she answered. 

“Well, the ’ dame ’s staunch,” he answered; 
“ she ’ll not tell upon you. We have time before 
us.” 

And just then, as if to contradict his words, feet 
came down the corridor, and a fist beat roughly on 
the door. 

“Here!” cried a voice. “Open, Master Dick- 
open ! ” 


^ THE BLACK ARROW 131 

Dick neither moved nor answered. 

' “ It is all over,” said the girl; and she put her 

arms about Dick’s neck. 

, One after another, men came trooping to the 
' door. Then Sir Daniel arrived himself, and there 
! was a sudden cessation of the noise, 
j “ Dick,” cried the knight, “ be not an ass. The 
Se\en Sleepers had been awake ere now. We 
know she is within there. Open, then, the door, 
man.” 

Dick was again silent. 

“ Down with it,” said Sir Daniel. And immedi- 
ately his followers fell savagely upon the door with 
foot and fist. Solid as it was, and strongly bolted, 
it would soon have given way ; but once more for- 
tune interfered. Over the thunder-storm of blows 
the cry of a sentinel was heard ; it was followed 
by another ; shouts ran along the battlements, 
shouts answered out of the wood. In the first mo- 
ment of alarm it sounded as if the foresters were 
carrying the Moat House by assault. And Sir 
Daniel and his men, desisting instantly from their 
attack upon Dick’s chamber, hurried to defend the 
walls. 

“ Now,” cried Dick, “ we are saved.” 

He seized the great old bedstead with both hands, 
and bent himself in vain to move it. 

“ Help me. Jack. For your life’s sake, help me 
stoutly ! ” he cried. 

Between them, with a huge effort, they dragged 
the big frame of oak across the room, and thrust 
it endwise to the chamber door. 


•32 THE BLACK ARROW 

I 

“ Ye do but make things worse,” said Joanna, [ 
sadly. “ He will then enter by the trap.” 

” Not so,” replied Dick. “ He durst not tell his 
secret to so many. It is by the trap that we shall 
flee. Hark! The attack is over. Nay, it was | 
none!” I 

It had, indeed, been no attack ; it was the arrival 
of another party of stragglers from the defeat of | 
Risingham that had disturbed Sir Daniel. They 
had run the gauntlet under cover of the darkness; 
they had been admitted by the great gate; andj 
now, with a great stamping of hoofs and jingle of 
accoutrements and arms, they were dismounting 
in the court. 

“ He will return anon,” said Dick. “ To the 
trap ! ” 

He lighted a lamp, and they went together into 
the corner of the room. The open chink through 
which some light still glittered was easily discov- 
ered, and, taking a stout sword from his small 
armoury, Dick thrust it deep into the seam, and 
weighed strenuously on the hilt. The trap moved, 
gaped a little, and at length came widely open. 
Seizing it with their hands, the two young folk 
threw it back. It disclosed a few steps descending, 
and at the foot of them, where the would-be mur- 
derer had left it. a burning lamp. 

“ Now,” said Dick, “ go first and take the lamp. 

I will follow to close the trap.” 

So they descended one after the other, and as 
Dick lowered the trap, the blows began once again 
to thunder on the panels of the door. 


CHAPTER IV 


THE PASSAGE 

T he passage in which Dick and Joanna 
now found themselves was narrow, dirty, 
and short. At the other end of it, a door 
stood partly open ; the same door, without doubt, 
that they had heard the man unlocking. Heavy 
cobwebs hung from the roof ; and the paved floor- 
ing echoed hollow under the lightest tread. 

Beyond the door there were two branches, at 
right angles. Dick chose one of them at random, 
and the pair hurried, with echoing footsteps, along 
the hollow of the chapel roof. The top of the 
arched ceiling rose like a whale’s back in the dim 
glimmer of the lamp. Here and there were spy- 
holes, concealed, on the other side, by the carving 
of the cornice; and looking down through one of 
these, Dick saw the paved floor of the chapel — the 
altar, with its burning tapers — and stretched be- 
fore it on the steps, the figure of Sir Oliver praying 
with uplifted hands. 

At the other end, they descended a few steps. 
The passage grew narrower ; the wall upon one 
hand was now of wood ; the noise of people talking, 
and a faint flickering of lights, came through the 
interstices; and presently they came to a round 


134 THE BLACK ARROW 

hole about the size of a man’s eye, and Dick, look- 
ing down through it, beheld the interior of the hall, 
and some half-a-dozen men sitting, in their jacks, 
about the table, drinking deep and demolishing a 
venison pie. These were certainly some of the late 
arrivals. 

“ Here is no help,” said Dick. “ Let us try 
back.” 

“ Nay,” said Joanna; “ maybe the passage goeth 
farther.” 

And she pushed on. But a few yards farther 
the passage ended at the top of a short flight of 
steps ; and it became plain that, as long as the sol- 
diers occupied the hall, escape was impossible upon 
that side. 

They retraced their steps with all imaginable 
speed, and set forward to explore the other branch. 
It was exceedingly narrow, scarce wide enough for 
a large man; and it led them continually up and 
down by little breakneck stairs, until even Dick had 
lost all notion of his whereabouts. 

At length it grew both narrower and lower ; the 
stairs continued to descend; the walls on either 
hand became damp and slimy to the touch ; and far 
in front of them they heard the squeaking and scut- 
tling of the rats. 

“ We must be in the dungeons,” Dick remarked. 

“ And still there is no outlet,” added Joanna. 

“ Nay, but an outlet there must be ! ” Dick 
answered. 

Presently, sure enough, they came to a sharp 
angle, and then the passage ended in a flight of 


THE BLACK ARROW 135 

steps. On the top of that there was a solid flag of 
stone by way of trap, and to this they both set their 
backs. It was immovable. 

“ Some one holdeth it,” suggested Joanna. 

“ Not so,” said Dick; “ for were a man strong 
as ten, he must still yield a little. But this resisteth 
like dead rock. There is a weight upon the trap. 
Here is no issue ; and, by my sooth, good Jack, we 
are here as fairly prisoners as though the gyves 
were on our ankle bones. Sit ye then down, and let 
us talk. After awhile we shall return, when per- 
chance they shall be less carefully upon their guard : 
and, who knoweth? we may break out and stand 
a chance. But, in my poor opinion, we are as good 
as shent.” 

“ Dick! ” she cried, “alas the day that ever ye 
should have seen me ! For like a most unhappy 
and unthankful maid, it is I have led yoti hither.” 

“What cheer!” returned Dick. “It was all 
written, and that which is written, willy nilly, 
cometh still to pass. But tell me a little what man- 
ner of a maid ye are, and how ye came into Sir 
Daniel’s hands ; that will do better than to bemoan 
yourself, whether for your sake or mine.” 

“ I am an orphan, like yourself, of father and 
mother.” said Joanna ; “ and for my great mis- 
fortune, Dick, and hitherto for yours, I am a rich 
marriage. My Lord Foxham had rhe to ward ; yet 
it appears Sir Daniel bought the marriage of me 
from the king, and a right dear price he paid for 
it. So here was I, poor babe, with two great and 
rich men fighting which should marry me, and I 


136 THE BLACK ARROW 


still at nurse! Well, then the world changed, and 
there was a new chancellor, and Sir Daniel bought 
the warding of me over the Lord Foxham’s head. 
And then the world changed again, and Lord Fox- 
ham bought my marriage over Sir Daniel’s; and 
from then to now it went on ill betwixt the two of 
them. But still Lord Foxham kept me in his 
hands, and was a good lord to me. And at last 
I was to be married — or sold, if ye like it better. 
Five hundred pounds Lord Foxham was to get for 
me. Hamley was the groom’s name, and to-mor- 
row, Dick, of all days in the year, was I to be be- 
trothed. Had it not come to Sir Daniel, I had been 
wedded, sure — and never seen thee, Dick — dear 
Dick!” 

And here she took his hand, and ’kissed it, with 
the prettiest grace ; and Dick drew her hand to him 
and did the like. 

“ Well,” she went on, “ Sir Daniel took me un- 
awares in the garden, and made me dress in these 
men’s clothes, which is a deadly sin for a woman : 
and, besides, they fit me not. He rode with me to 
Kettley, as ye saw, telling me I was to marry you ; 
but I, in my heart, made sure I would marry Ham- 
ley in his teeth.” 

“ Ay ! ” cried Dick, “ and so ye loved this 
Hamley ! ” 

“ Nay,” replied Joanna, “ not I. I did but hate 
Sir Daniel. And then, Dick, ye helped me, and ye 
were right kind, and very bold, and my heart 
turned towards you in mine own despite ; and now, 
if we can in any way compass it, I would marry 


THE BLACK ARROW 137 

you with right good-will. And if, by cruel destiny, 
it may not be, still ye ’ll be dear to me. While my 
heart beats, it ’ll be true to you.” 

“ And I,” said Dick, “ that never cared a straw 
for any manner of woman until now, I took to you 
when I thought ye were a boy. I had a pity to you, 
and knew not why. When I would have belted 
you, the hand failed me. But when ye owned ye 
were a maid. Jack — for still I will call you Jack 
— I made sure ye were the maid for me. Hark ! ” 
he said, breaking off — “ one cometh.” 

And indeed a heavy tread was now audible in 
the echoing passage, and the rats again fled in 
armies. 

Dick reconnoitred his position. The sudden turn 
gave him a post of vantage. He could thus shoot 
in safety from the cover of the wall. But it was 
plain the light was too near him, and, running some 
way forward, he set down the lamp in the middle 
of the passage, and then returned to watch. 

Presently, at the far end of the passage, Bennet 
hove in sight. He* seemed to be alone, and he 
carried in his hand a burning torch, which made 
him the better mark. 

“ Stand, Bennet ! ” cried Dick. “ Another step, 
and y’ are dead.” 

“ So here ye are,” returned Hatch, peering for- 
ward into the darkness. “ I see you not. Aha ! 
y’ ’ave done wisely, Dick; y’ ’ave put your lamp 
before you. By my sooth, but, though it was done 
to shoot my own knave body, I do rejoice to see ye 
profit of my lessons! And now, what make ye? 


138 THE BLACK ARROW 

what seek ye here? Why would ye shoot upon an 
old, kind friend? And have ye the young gentle- 
woman there ? ” 

“ Nay, Bennet, it is I should question and you 
answer,” replied Dick. “ Why am I in this jeop- 
ardy of my life ? Why do men come privily to slay 
me in my bed? Why am I now fleeing in mine 
own guardian’s strong house, and from the friends 
that I have lived among and never injured? ” 

“ Master Dick, Master Dick,” said Bennet, 
“what told I you? Y’ are brave, but the most 
uncrafty lad that I can think upon ! ” 

“ Well,” returned Dick, “ I see ye know all, and 
that I am doomed indeed. It is well. Here, where 
I am, I stay. Let Sir Daniel get me out if he be 
able!” 

Hatch was silent for a space. 

“ Hark ye,” he began, “ I return to Sir Daniel, 
to tell him where ye are, and how posted ; for, in 
truth, it was to that end he sent me. But you, if 
ye are no fool, had best be gone ere I return.” 

“ Be gone! ” repeated Dick: “ I would be gone 
already, an I wist how. I cannot move the trap.” 

“ Put me your hand into the corner, and see 
what ye find there,” replied Bennet. “ Throg- 
morton’s rope is still in the brown chamber. Fare 
ye well.” 

And Hatch, turning upon his heel, disappeared 
again into the windings of the passage. 

Dick instantly returned for his lamp, and pro- 
ceeded to act upon the hint. At one corner of the 
trap there was a deep cavity in the wall. Pushing 


THE BLACK ARROW 139 

his arm into the aperture, Dick found an iron 
bar, which he thrust vigorously upwards. There 
followed a snapping noise, and the slab of stone 
instantly started in its bed. 

They were free of the passage. A little exer- 
cise of strength easily raised the trap; and they 
came forth into a vaulted chamber, opening on 
one hand upon the court, where one or two fellows, 
with bare arms, were rubbing down the horses of 
the last arrivals. A torch or two, each stuck in 
an iron ring against the wall, changefully lit up the 
scene. 


•t 


CHAPTER V 


HOW DICK CHANGED SIDES 

D ick, blowing out his lamp lest it should 
attract attention, led the way up-stairs and 
along the corridor. In the brown chamber 
the rope had been made fast to the frame of an 
exceeding heavy and ancient bed. It had not been 
detached, and Dick, taking the coil to the window, 
began to lower it slowly and cautiously into the 
darkness of the night. Joan stood by; but as the 
rope lengthened, and still Dick continued to pay it 
out, extreme fear began to conquer her resolution. 

“ Dick,” she said, “ is it so deep? I may not 
essay it. I should infallibly fall, good Dick.” 

It was just at the delicate moment of the opera- 
tions that she spoke. Dick started ; the remainder 
of the coil slipped from his grasp, and the end fell 
with a splash into the moat. Instantly, from the 
battlement above, the voice of a sentinel cried, 
“ Who goes ? ” 

“ A murrain ! ” cried Dick. “ We are paid now ! 
Down with you — take the rope.” 

“ I cannot,” she cried, recoiling. 

“ An ye cannot, no more can I,” said Shelton. 
“ How can I swim the moat without you? Do you 
desert me, then ? ” 


THE BLACK ARROW 141 

“ Dick,” she gasped, “ I cannot. The strength 
is gone from me.” 

“ By the mass, then, we are all shent ! ” he 
shouted, stamping with his foot ; and then, hearing 
steps, he ran to the room door and sought to 
close it. 

Before he could shoot the bolt, strong arms were 
thrusting it back upon him from the other side. 
He struggled for a second; then, feeling himself 
overpowered, ran back to the window. The girl 
had fallen against the wall in the embrasure of the 
window; she was more than half insensible; and 
when he tried to raise her in his arms, her body 
was limp and unresponsive. 

At the same moment the men who had forced the 
door against him laid hold upon him. The first he 
poniarded at a blow, and the others falling back 
for a second in some disorder, he profited by the 
chance, bestrode the window-sill, seized the cord in 
both hands, and let his body slip. 

The cord was knotted, which made it the easier 
to descend ; but so furious was Dick’s hurry, and 
so small his experience of such gymnastics, that he 
span round and round in mid-air like a criminal 
upon a gibbet, and now beat his head, ,and now 
bruised his hands, against the rugged stonework 
of the wall. The air roared in his ears; he saw 
the stars overhead, and the reflected stars below 
him in the moat, whirling like dead leaves before 
the tempest. And then he lost hold, and fell, and 
soused head over ears into the icy water. 

When he came to the surface his hand encoun- 


142 THE BLACK ARROW 

tered the rope, which, newly lightened of his 
weight, w’as swinging wildly to and fro. There 
was a red glow overhead, and looking up, he saw, 
by the light of several torches and a cresset full 
of burning coals, the battlements lined with faces. 
He saw the men’s eyes turning hither and thither 
in quest of him ; but he was too far below, the light 
reached him not, and they looked in vain. 

And now he perceived that the rope was con- 
siderabl)’^ too long, and he began to struggle as 
well as he could towards the other side of the moat, 
still keeping his head above water. In this way 
he got much more than half-way over ; indeed the 
bank was almost within reach, before the rope 
began to draw him back by its own weight. Tak- 
ing his courage in both hands, he left go and made 
a leap for the trailing sprays of willow that had 
already, that same evening, helped Sir Daniel’s 
messenger to land. He went down, rose again, 
sank a second time, and then his hand caught a 
branch, and with the speed of thought he had 
dragged himself into the thick of the tree and clung 
there, dripping and panting, and still half uncertain 
of his escape. 

But all this had not been done without a con- 
siderable splashing, which had so far indicated his 
position to the men along the battlements. Arrows 
and quarrels fell thick around him in the darkness, 
thick like driving hail ; and suddenly a torch was 
thrown down — flared through the air in its swift 
passage — stuck for a moment on the edge of the 
bank, where it burned high and lit up its whole 


THE BLACK ARROW 143 

surroundings like a bonfire — and then, in a good 
hour for Dick, slipped off, plumped into the moat, 
and was instantly extinguished. 

It had served its purpose. The marksmen had 
had time to see the willow, and Dick ensconced 
among its boughs; and though the lad instantly 
sprang higher up the bank, and ran for his life, 
he was yet not quick enough to escape a shot. An 
arrow struck him in the shoulder, another grazed 
liis head. 

The pain of his wounds lent him wings; and 
he had no sooner got upon the level than he took 
to his heels and ran straight before him in the 
dark, without a thought for the direction of his 
flight. 

For a few steps missiles followed him, but these 
soon ceased; and when at length he came to a 
halt and looked behind, he was already a good way 
from the Moat House, though he could still see the 
torches moving to and fro along its battlements. 

He leaned against a tree, streaming with blood 
and water, bruised, wounded, alone, and unarmed. 
For all that, he had saved his life for that bout; 
and though Joanna remained behind in the power 
of Sir Daniel, he neither blamed himself for an 
accident that it had been beyond his power to pre- 
vent, nor did he augur any fatal consequences to 
the girl herself. Sir Daniel was cruel, but he was 
not likely to be cruel to a young gentlewoman who 
had other protectors, willing and able to bring him 
to account. It was more probable he would make 
haste to marry her to some friend of his own 


144 THE BLACK ARROW 

“ Well,” thought Dick, “ between then and now 
I will find me the means to bring that traitor 
under ; for I think, by the mass, that I be now ab- 
solved from any gratitude or obligation ; and when 
war is open, there is a fair chance for all.” 

In the meanwhile, here he was in a sore plight. 

For some little way farther he struggled forward 
through the forest; but what with the pain of his 
wounds, the darkness of the night, and the extreme 
uneasiness and confusion of his mind, he soon be- 
came equally unable to guide himself or to continue 
to push through the close undergrowth, and he 
was fain at length to sit down and lean his back 
against a tree. 

When he awoke from something betwixt sleep 
and swooning, the grey of the morning had begun 
to take the place of night. A little chilly breeze 
was bustling among the trees, and as he still sat 
staring before him, only half awake, he became 
aware of something dark that swung to and fro 
among the branches, some hundred yards in front 
of him. The progressive brightening of the day 
and the return of his own senses at last enabled 
him to recognise the object It was a man hanging 
from the bough of a tall oak. His head had fallen 
forward on his breast but at every stronger pufif 
of wind his body span round and round, and his 
legs and arms tossed, like some ridiculous play- 
thing. 

Dick clambered to his feet, and, staggering and 
leaning on the tree-trunks as he went, drew near 
to this grim object. 


THE BLACK ARROW 145 

The bough was perhaps twenty feet above the 
ground, and the poor fellow had been drawn up 
so high by his executioners that his boots swung 
clear above Dick’s reach; and as his hood had 
been drawn over his face, it was impossible to rec- 
ognise the man. 

Dick looked about him right and left; and at 
last he perceived that the other end of the cord had 
been made fast to the trunk of a little hawthorn 
which grew, thick with blossom, under the lofty 
arcade of the oak. With his dagger, which alone 
remained to him of all his arms, young Shelton 
severed the rope, and instantly, with a dead thump, 
the corpse fell in a heap upon the ground. 

Dick raised the hood ; it was Throgmorton, Sir 
Daniel’s messenger. He had not gone far upon 
his errand. A paper, which had apparently es- 
caped the notice of the men of the Black Arrow, 
stuck from the bosom of his doublet, and Dick, 
pulling it forth, found it was Sir Daniel’s letter 
to Lord Wensleydale. 

“ Come,” thought he, “ if the world changes yet 
again, I may have here the wherewithal to shame 
Sir Daniel — nay, and perchance to bring him to 
the block.” 

And he put the paper in his own bosom, said a 
prayer over the dead man, and set forth again 
through the woods. 

His fatigue and weakness increased; his ears 
sang, his steps faltered, his mind at intervals 
failed him, so low had he been brought by loss of 
blood. Doubtless he made many deviations from 


10 


146 THE BLACK ARROW 


his true path, but at last he came out upon the 
highroad, not very far from Tunstall hamlet. 

A rough voice bid him stand. 

“ Stand ? ” repeated Dick. “ By the mass, but I 
am nearer falling.” 

And he suited the action to the word, and fell 
all his length upon the road. 

Two men came forth out of the thicket, each in 
green forest jerkin, each with long-bow and quiver 
and short sword. 

“ Why, Lawless,” said the younger of the two, 
‘‘ it is young Shelton.” 

“ Ay, this will be as good as bread to John 
Amend-All,” returned the other. “ Though, faith, 
he hath been to the wars. Here is a tear in his 
scalp that must ’a’ cost him many a good ounce 
of blood.” 

“ And here,” added Greensheve, “ is a hole in 
his shoulder that must have pricked him well. 
Who hath done this, think ye? If it be one of 
ours, he may all to prayer; Ellis will give him a 
short shrift and a long rope.” 

“ Up with the cub,” said Lawless. “ Clap him 
on my back.” 

And then, when Dick had been hoisted to his 
shoulders, and he had taken the lad’s arms about 
his neck, and got a firm hold of him, the ex-Grey 
Friar added: 

“ Keep ye the post, brother Greensheve. I will 
on with him by myself.” 

So Greensheve returned to his ambush on the 
wayside, and Lawless trudged down the hill, 


THE BLACK ARROW 147 

whistling as he went, with Dick, still in a dead 
faint, comfortably settled on his shoulders'. 

The sun rose as he came out of the skirts of the 
wood and saw Tunstall hamlet straggling up the 
opposite hill. All seemed quiet, but a strong post 
of some half a score of archers lay close by the 
bridge on either side of the road, and, as soon as 
they perceived Lawless with his burthen, began to 
bestir themselves and set arrow to string like vigi- 
lant sentries. 

“ Who goes ? ” cried the man in command. 

“ Will Lawless, by the rood — ye know me as 
well as your own hand,” returned the outlaw, 
contemptuously. 

“ Give the word. Lawless,” returned the other. 

“ Now, Heaven lighten thee, thou great fool,” 
replied Lawless. “Did I not tell it thee myself? 
But ye are all mad for this playing at soldiers. 
When I am in the greenwood, give me greenwood 
ways ; and my word for this tide is : ‘ A fig for all 
mock soldiery ! ’ ” 

“ Lawless, ye but show an ill example ; give us 
the word, fool jester,” said the commander of the 
post. 

“And if I had forgotten it?” asked the 
other. 

“ An ye had forgotten it — as I know y’ ’ave 
not — by the mass, I would clap an arrow into 
your big body,” returned the first. 

“ Nay, an y’ are so ill a jester,” said Lawless, 
“ ye shall have your word for me. ‘ Duckworth 
and Shelton ’ is the word ; and here, to the illus- 


148 THE BLACK ARROW 

t ration, is Shelton on my shoulders, and to Duck- 
worth do I carry him.” 

“ Pass, Lawless,” said the sentry. 

“ And where is John? ” asked the Grey Friar. 

“ He holdeth a court, by the mass, and taketh 
rents as to the manner born ! ” cried another of the 
company. 

So it proved. When Lawless got as far up the 
village as the little inn, he found Ellis Duckworth 
surrounded by Sir Daniel’s tenants, and, by the 
right of his good company of archers, coolly tak- 
ing rents, 'and giving written receipts in return for 
them. By the faces of the tenants, it was plain 
how little this proceeding pleased them ; for they 
argued very rightly that they would simply have 
to pay them twice. 

As soon as he knew what had brought Lawless, 
Ellis dismissed the remainder of the tenants, and, 
with every mark of interest and apprehension, 
conducted Dick into an inner chamber of the inn. 
There the lad’s hurts were looked to; and he was 
recalled, by simple remedies, to consciousness. 

“ Dear lad,” said Ellis, pressing his hand, “ y’ 
are in a friend’s hands that loved your father, and 
loves you for his sake. Rest ye a little quietly, 
for ye are somewhat out of case. Then shall ye 
tell me your story, and betwixt the two of us we 
shall find a remedy for all.” 

A little later in the day, and after Dick had 
awakened from a comfortable slumber to find him- 
self still very weak, but clearer in mind and easier 
in body, Ellis returned, and sitting down by the 


THE BLACK ARROW 149 

bedside, begged him, in the name of his father, ta 
relate the circumstance of his escape from Tunstall 
I Moat House. There was something in the strength 
of Duckworth’s frame, in the honesty of his brown 
face, in the clearness and shrewdness of his eyes, 
that moved Dick to obey him; and from first to 
I last the lad told him the story of his two days’ 
i adventures. 

“ Well,” said Ellis, when he had done, “ see 
what the kind saints have done for you, Dick 
Shelton, not alone to save your body in so numer- 
ous and deadly perils, but to bring you into my 
hands that have no dearer wish than to assist your 
father’s son. Be but true to me — and I see y’ 
are true — and betwixt you and me, we shall bring 
that false-heart traitor to the death.” 

“Will ye assault the house?” asked Dick. 

“ I were mad, indeed, to think of it,” returned 
Ellis. “ He hath too much power ; his men gather 
to him ; those that gave me the slip last night, and 
by the mass came in so handily for you — those 
have made him safe. Nay, Dick, to the contrary, 
thou and I and my brave bowmen, we must all 
slip from this forest speedily, and leave Sir Daniel 
free.” 

“ My mind misgiveth me for Jack,” said the lad. 

“For Jack!” repeated Duckworth. “ O, I see, 
for the wench! Nay, Dick, I promise you, if there 
come talk of any marriage we shall act at once; 
till then, or till the time is ripe, we shall all dis- 
appear, even like shadows at morning; Sir Daniel 
shall look east and west, and see none enemies;: 


150 THE BLACK ARROW 

he shall think, by the mass, that he hath dreamed 
awhile, and hath now awakened in his bed. But 
our four eyes, Dick, shall follow him right close, 
and our four hands — so help us all the army of 
the saints! — shall bring that traitor low!” 

Two days later Sir Daniel’s garrison had grown 
to such a strength that he ventured on a sally, and 
at the head of some two-score horsemen, pushed 
without opposition as far as Tunstall hamlet. Not 
an arrow flew, not a man stirred in the thicket ; 
the bridge was no longer guarded, but stood open 
to all comers ; and as Sir Daniel crossed it. he saw 
the villagers looking timidly from their doors. 

Presently one of them, taking heart of grace, 
came forward, and with the lowliest salutations, 
presented a letter to the knight. 

His face darkened as he read the contents. It 
ran thus: 

To the most untrue and cruel gentylman. Sir Daniel 
Brackley, Knyght, These: 

I fynde ye were untrue and unkynd fro the first. Ye have 
my father’s blood upon your hands ; let be, it will not wasshe. 
Some day ye shall perish by my procurement, so much I let - 
you to wytte ; and I let you to wytte farther, that if ye seek 
to wed to any other the gentylvvoman, Mistresse Joan Sedley, 
whom that I am bound upon a great oath to wed myself, the 
blow will be very swift. The first step therinne will be thy 
first step to the grave. 


Ric. Shelton. 


BOOK III 


MY LORD FOXHAM 


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CHAPTER I 

THE HOUSE BY THE SHORE 

M onths had passed away since Richard 
Shelton made his escape from the hands 
of his guardian. These months had 
been eventful for England. The party of Lan- 
caster, which was then in the very article of death, 
had once more raised its head. The Yorkists de- 
feated and dispersed, their leader butchered on the 
field, it seemed, for a very brief season in the winter 
following upon the events already recorded, as if 
the House of Lancaster had finally triumphed over 
its foes. 

The small town of Shoreby-on-the-Till was full 
of the Lancastrian nobles of the neighbourhood. 
Earl Risingham was there, with three hundred 
men-at-arms ; Lord Shoreby, with two hundred ; 
Sir Daniel himself, high in favour and once more 
growing rich on confiscations, lay in a house of 
his own, on the main street, with three-score men. 
The world had changed indeed. 

It was a black, bitter cold evening in the first 
week of January, with a hard frost, a high wind, 
and every likelihood of snow before the morning. 

In an obscure alehouse in a by-street near the 
harbour, three or four men sat drinking ale and 


154 THE BLACK ARROW 

eating a hasty mess of eggs. They were all likely, 
lusty, weather-beaten fellows, hard of hand, bold 
of eye; and though they wore plain tabards, like 
country ploughmen, even a drunken soldier might 
have looked twice before he sought a quarrel in 
such company. 

A little apart before the huge fire sat a younger 
man, almost a boy, dressed in much the same 
fashion, though it was easy to see by his looks 
that he was better born, and might have worn a 
sword, had the time suited. 

“ Nay,” said one of the men at the table, “ I 
like it not. Ill will come of it. This is no place 
for jolly fellows. A jolly fellow loveth open 
country, good cover, and scarce foes ; but here we 
are shut in a town, girt about with enemies; and, 
for the bull’s-eye of misfortune, see if it snow not 
ere the morning.” 

“ ’T is for Master Shelton there,” said another, 
nodding his head towards the lad before the fire. 

“ I will do much for Master Shelton,” returned 
the first ; “ but to come to the gallows for any 
man — nay, brothers, not that!” 

The door of the inn opened, and another man 
entered hastily and approached the youth before 
the fire. 

“ Master Shelton,” he said, “ Sir Daniel goetn 
forth with a pair of links and four archers.” 

Dick (for this was our young friend) rose in- 
stantly to his feet. 

“ Lawless,” he said, “ ye will take John Cap- 
per’s watch. Greensheve, follow with me. Capper, 


THE BLACK ARROW 155 

lead forward. We will follow him this time, an 
he go to York.” 

The next moment they were outside in the dark 
j street, and Capper, the man who had just come, 

I pointed to where two torches flared in the wind at 
a little distance. 

The town was already sound asleep; no one 
moved upon the streets, and there was nothing 
easier than to follow the party without observation. 
Tlie two link-bearers went first; next followed 
a single man, whose long cloak blew about him 
in the wind ; and the rear was brought up by 
the four archers, each with his bow upon his 
arm. They moved at a brisk walk, threading 
the intricate lanes and drawing nearer to the 
shore. 

“ He hath gone each night in this direction ? ” 
asked Dick, in a whisper. 

“ This is the third night running. Master Shel- 
ton,” returned Capper, “ and still at the same hour 
and with the same small following, as though his 
end were secret.” 

Sir Daniel and his six men were now come to 
the outskirts of the country. Shoreby was an 
open town, and though the Lancastrian lords who 
lay there kept a strong guard on the main roads, 
it was still possible to enter or depart unseen by any 
of the lesser streets or across the open country. 

The lane which Sir Daniel had been following 
came to an abrupt end. Before him there was a 
stretch of rough down, and the noise of the sea- 
surf was audible upon one hand. There were no 


156 THE BLACK ARROW 

guards in the neighbourhood, nor any light in that 
quarter of the town. 

Dick and his two outlaws drew a little closer 
to the object of their chase, and presently, as they 
came forth from between the houses and could 
see a little farther upon either hand, they were 
aware of another torch drawing near from another 
direction. 

“ Hey,” said Dick, “ I smell treason.” 

Meanwhile, Sir Daniel had come to a full halt.- 
The torches were stuck into the sand, and the men 
lay down, as if to await the arrival of the other 
party. 

This drew near at a good rate. It consisted of 
four men only — a pair of archers, a varlet with 
a link, and a cloaked gentleman walking in their 
midst. 

“ Is it you, my lord ? ” cried Sir Daniel. 

“ It is I, indeed ; and if ever true knight gave 
proof I am that man,” replied the leader of the 
second troop ; “ for who would not rather face 
giants, sorcerers, or pagans, than this pinching 
cold?” 

“ My lord,” returned Sir Daniel, beauty will 
be the more beholden, misdoubt it not. But shall 
we forth? for the sooner ye have seen my mer- 
chandise, the sooner shall we both get home.” 

“ But why keep ye her here, good knight? ” in- 
quired the other. “ An she be so young, and so 
fair, and so wealthy, why do ye not bring her 
forth among her mates? Ye would soon make 
her a good marriage, and no need to freeze your 


THE BLACK ARROW 157 

fingers and risk arrow-shots by going abroad at 
snch untimely seasons in the dark.” 

“ I have told you, my lord,” replied Sir Daniel, 
“ the reason thereof concerneth me only. Neither 
do I purpose to explain it farther. Suffice it, that 
if ye be weary of your old gossip, Daniel Brackley, 
publish it abroad that y’ are to wed Joanna Sedley, 
and I give you my word ye will be quit of him 
right soon. Ye will find him with an arrow in his 
back.” 

Meantime the two gentlemen were walking 
briskly forward over the down; the three torches 
going before them, stooping against the wind and 
scattering clouds of smoke and tufts of flame, 
and the rear brought up by the six archers. 

Close upon the heels of these, Dick followed. 
He had, of course, heard no word of this conver- 
sation ; but he had recognised in the second of 
the speakers old Lord Shoreby himself, a man of 
an infamous reputation, whom even Sir Daniel 
affected, in public, to condemn. 

Presently they came close down upon the beach. 
The air smelt salt ; the noise of the surf increased ; 
and here, in a large walled garden, there stood a 
small house of two storeys, with stables and other 
offices. 

The foremost torch-bearer unlocked a door in the 
wall, and after the whole party had passed into the 
garden, again closed and locked it on the other side. 

Dick and his men were thus excluded from any 
farther following, unless they should scale the wall 
and thus put their necks in a trap. 


158 THE BLACK ARROW 

They sat down in a tuft of furze and waited. 
The red glow of the torches moved up and down 
and to and fro within the enclosure, as if the link- 
bearers steadily patrolled the garden. 

Twenty minutes passed, and then the whole 
party issued forth again upon the down; and Sir 
Daniel and the baron, after an elaborate saluta- ' 
tion, separated and turned severally homeward, 
each with his own following of men and lights. 

As soon as the sound of their steps had been 
swallowed by the wind, Dick got to his feet as 
briskly as he was able, for he was stiff and aching 
with the cold. 

“ Capper, ye will give me a back up,” he said. 

They advanced, all three, to the wall ; Capper 
stooped, and Dick, getting upon his shoulders, 
clambered on to the cope-stone. 

“ Now, Greensheve,” whispered Dick, “ follow 
me up here ; lie flat upon your face, that ye may be 
the less seen ; and be ever ready to give me a hand 
if I fall foully on the other side.” 

And so saying he dropped into the garden. 

It was all pitch dark; there was no light in the 
house. The wind whistled shrill among the poor 
shrubs, and the surf beat upon the beach ; there 
Avas no other sound. Cautiously Dick footed it 
forth, stumbling among bushes, and groping Avith 
his hands; and presently the crisp noise of gravel 
underfoot told him that he had struck upon an 
alley. 

Here he paused, and taking his cross-boAv from 
Avhere he kept it concealed under his long tabard. 


THE BLACK ARROW 159 

he prepared it for instant action, and went forward 
once more with greater resolution and assurance. 
The path led him straight to the group of buildings. 

All seemed to be sorely dilapidated : the windows 
of the house were secured by crazy shutters; the 
stables were open and empty ; there was no hay in 
the hay-loft, no corn in the corn-box. Any one 
would have supposed the place to be deserted. But 
Dick had good reason to think otherwise. He con- 
tinued his inspection, visiting the offices, trying all 
the windows. At length he came round to the sea- 
side of the house, and there, sure enough, there 
burned a pale light in one of the upper windows. 

He stepped back a little way, till he thought he 
could see the movement of a shadow on the wall 
of the apartment. Then he remembered that, in 
the stable, his groping hand had rested for a mo- 
ment on a ladder, and he returned with all despatch 
to bring it. The ladder was very short, but yet, by 
standing on the topmost round, he could bring his 
hands as high as the iron bars of the window ; and 
seizing these, he raised his body by main force until 
his eyes commanded the interior of the room. 

Two persons were within; the first he readily 
knew to be Dame Hatch; the second, a tall and 
beautiful and grave young lady, in a long, embroi- 
dered dress — could that be Joanna Sedley ? his old 
wood-companion. Jack, whom he had thought to 
punish with a belt? 

He dropped back again to the top round of the 
ladder in a kind of amazement. He had never 
thought of his sweetheart as of so superior a being, 


i6o THE BLACK ARROW 


and he was instantly taken with a feeling of diffi- 
dence. But he had little opportunity for thought. 
A low “ Hist ! ” sounded from close by, and he 
hastened to descend the ladder. 

“ Who goes ? ” he whispered. 

“ Greensheve,” came the reply, in tones similarly i 
guarded. 

“ What want ye? ” asked Dick. 

“ The house is watched. Master Shelton,” re- 
turned the outlaw. “We are not alone to watch it : - j 
for even as I lay on my belly on the wall I saw men I 
prowling in the dark, and heard them whistle softly | 
one to the other.” i 

“ By my sooth,” said Dick, “ but this is passing 
strange! Were they not men of Sir Daniel’s? ” 

“ Nay, sir, that they were not,” returned Green- 
sheve ; “ for if I have eyes in my head, every man- 
jack of them weareth me a white badge in his 
bonnet, something chequered with dark.” 

“ White, chequered with dark,” repeated Dick. 

“ Faith, ’t is a badge I know not. It is none of this 
country’s badges. Well, an that be so, let us slip 
as quietly forth from this garden as we may; for 
here we are in an evil posture for defence. Beyond 
all question there are men of Sir Daniel’s in that 
house, and to be taken between two shots is a 
beggarman’s position. Take me this ladder; I 
must leave it where I found it.” 

They returned the ladder to the stable, and 
groped their way to the place where they had 
entered. 

Capper had taken Greensheve’s position on the 


THE BLACK ARROW i6i 


cope, and now he leaned down his hand, and, first 
one and then the other, pulled them up. 

Cautiously and silently, they dropped again upon 
the other side; nor did they dare to speak until 
they had returned to their old ambush in the gorse. 

“ Now, John Capper,” said Dick, “ back with 
you to Shoreb)-, even as for your life. Bring me 
instantly what men ye can collect. Here shall be 
the rendezvous; or if the men be scattered and the 
day be near at hand before they muster, let the 
place be something farther back, and by the enter- 
ing in of the town. Greensheve and I lie here to 
watch. Speed ye, John Capper, and the saints aid 
you to despatch. And now, Greensheve,” he con- 
tinued, as soon as Capper had departed, “ let thou 
and I go round about the garden in a wide circuit. 
I would fain see whether thine eyes betrayed thee.” 

Keeping well outwards from the wall, and profit- 
ing by every height and hollow, they passed about 
two sides, beholding nothing. On the third side 
the garden wall was built close upon the beach, and 
to preserve the distance necessary to their purpose, 
they had to go some way down upon the sands. 
Although the tide was still pretty far out, the surf 
was so high, and the sands so flat, that at each 
breaker a great sheet of froth and water came 
careering over the expanse, and Dick and Green- 
sheve made this part of their inspection wading, 
now to the ankles, and now as deep as to the knees, 
in the salt and icy waters of the German Ocean. 

Suddenly, against the comparative whiteness of 
the garden wall, the figure of a man was seen, like 

II 


i 62 the black arrow 


a faint Chinese shadow, violently signalling with 
both arms. As he dropped again to the earth, 
another arose a little farther on and repeated the 
same performance. And so, like a silent watch- 
word, these gesticulations made the round of the 
beleaguered garden. 

“ They keep good watch,” Dick whispered. 

“ Let us back to land, good master,” answered 
Greensheve. “ We stand here too open ; for, look 
ye, when the seas break heavy and white out there 
behind us, they shall see us plainly against the 
foam.” 

“ Ye speak sooth,” returned Dick. “ Ashore 
with us, right speedily.” 


CHAPTER II 


A SKIRMISH IN THE DARK 

T horoughly drenched and chilled, the 
two adventurers returned to their posi- 
tion in the gorse. 

“ I pray Heaven that Capper make good speed ! ” 
said Dick. “ I vow a candle to St. Mary of 
Shoreby if he come before the hour! ” 

“ Y’ are in a hurry, Master Dick? ” asked Green- 
sheve. 

“ Ay, good fellow,” answered Dick ; “ for in 
that house lieth my lady, whom I love, and who 
should these be that lie about her secretly by night ? 
Lhifriends, for sure!'* 

“ Well,” returned Greensheve, “ an John come 
speedily, we shall give a good account of them. 
They are not two-score at the outside — I judge so 
by the spacing of their sentries — and, taken where 
they are, lying so widely, one score would scatter 
them like sparrows. And yet. Master Dick, an she 
be in Sir Daniel’s power already, it will little hurt 
that she should change into another’s. Who should 
these be ? ” 

“ I do suspect the Lord of Shoreby,” Dick re- 
plied. “ When came they ? ” 


i 64 the black arrow 

They began to come, Master Dick,” said 
Greensheve, “ about the time ye crossed the wall. 
I had not lain there the space of a minute ere I 
marked the first of the knaves crawling round the 
corner.” 

The last light had been already extinguished in 
the little house when they were wading in the wash 
of the breakers, and it was impossible to predict at 
what moment the lurking men about the garden 
wall might make their onslaught. Of two evils, 
Dick preferred the least. He preferred that Joanna 
should remain under the guardianship of Sir Daniel 
rather than pass into the clutches of Lord Shoreby ; 
and his mind was made up, if the house should be 
assaulted, to come at once to the relief of the 
besieged. 

But the time passed, and still there was no move- 
ment. From quarter of an hour to quarter of an 
hour the same signal passed about the garden wall, 
as if the leader desired to assure himself of the 
vigilance of his scattered followers; but in every 
other particular the neighbourhood of the little 
house lay undisturbed. 

Presently Dick’s reinforcements began to arrive. 
The night was not yet old before nearly a score of 
men crouched beside him in the gorse. 

Separating these into two bodies, he took the 
command of the smaller himself, and entrusted the 
larger to the leadership of Greensheve. 

” Now, Kit,” said he to this last, “ take me your 
men to the near angle of the garden wall upon the 
beach. Post them strongly, and wait till that ye 


THE BLACK ARROW 165 

hear me falling on upon the other side. It is those 
upon the sea-front that I would fain make certain 
of, for there will be the leader. The rest will run ; 
even let them. And now, lads, let no man draw an 
arrow; ye will but hurt friends. Take to the steel, 
and keep to the steel; and if we have the upper- 
most, I promise every man of you a gold noble 
wlien I come to mine estate.” 

Out of the odd collection of broken men, thieves, 
murderers, and ruined peasantry, whom Duck- 
worth had gathered together to serve the purposes 
of his revenge, some of the boldest and the most 
experienced in war had volunteered to follow 
Richard Shelton. The service of watching Sir 
l^aniel’s movements in the town of Shoreby had 
from the first been irksome to their temper, and 
they had of late begun to grumble loudly and 
threaten to disperse. The prospect of a sharp en- 
counter and possible spoils restored them to good- 
humour, and they joyfully prepared for battle. 

Their long tabards thrown aside, they appeared, 
some in plain green jerkins, and some in stout 
leathern jacks ; under their hoods many wore bon- 
nets strengthened by iron plates ; and, for offensive 
armour, swords, daggers, a few stout boar-spears, 
and a dozen of bright bills, put them in a posture 
to engage even regular feudal troops. The bows, 
quivers, and tabards were concealed among the 
gorse, and the two bands set resolutely forward. 

Dick, when he had reached the other side of the 
house, posted his six men in a line, about twenty 
yards from the garden wall, and took position him- 


i66 THE BLACK ARROW 


self a few paces in front. Then they all shouted . 
with one voice, and closed upon the enemy. 

These, lying widely scattered, stiff with cold, and 
taken at unawares, sprang stupidly to their feet, 
and stood undecided. Before they had time to get 
their courage about them, or even to form an idea 
of the number and mettle of their assailants, a sim- 
ilar shout of onslaught sounded in their ears from 
the far side of the enclosure. Thereupon they gave 
themselves up for lost and ran. 

In this way the two small troops of the men of 
the Black Arrow closed upon the sea-front of the 
garden wall, and took a part of the strangers, as it 
were, between two fires; while the whole of the 
remainder ran for their lives in different directions, 
and were soon scattered in the darkness. 

For all that, the fight was but beginning. Dick’s 
outlaws, although they had the advantage of the 
surprise, were still considerably outnumbered by 
the men they had surrounded. The tide had 
flowed, in the meanwhile ; the beach was narrowed 
to a strip ; and on this wet field, between the surf 
and the garden wall, there began, in the darkness, 
a doubtful, furious, and deadly contest. 

The strangers were well armed; they fell in 
silence upon their assailants ; and the affray became 
a series of single combats. Dick, who had come 
first into the mellay, was engaged by three; the 
first he cut down at the first blow, but the other two 
coming upon him, hotly, he was fain to give ground 
before their onset. One of these two was a huge 
fellow, almost a giant for stature, and armed with 


THE B.LACK ARROW 167 

a two-handed sword, which he brandished like a 
switch. Against this opponent, with his reach of 
arm and the length and weight of his weapon, Dick 
and his bill were quite defenceless; and had the 
other continued to join vigorously in the attack, 
the lad must have indubitably fallen. This second 
man, however, less . in stature and slower in his 
movements, paused for a moment to peer about 
him in the darkness, and to give ear to the sounds 
of the battle. 

The giant still pursued his advantage, and still 
Dick fled before him, spying for his chance. Then 
the huge blade* flashed and descended, and the lad, 
leaping on one side and running in, slashed side- 
ways and upwards with his bill. A roar of agony 
responded, and, before the wounded man could 
raise his formidable weapon, Dick, twice repeating 
his blow, had brought him to the ground. 

The next moment he was engaged, upon more 
equal terms, with his second pursuer. Here there 
was no great difference in size, and though the 
man, fighting with sword and dagger against a bill, 
and being wary and quicl< of fence, had a certain 
superiority of arms, Dick more than made it up 
by his greater agility on foot. Neither at first 
gained any obvious advantage; but the older man 
was still insensibly profiting by the ardour of the 
younger to lead him where he would ; and pres- 
ently Dick found that they had crossed the whole 
width of the beach, and were now fighting above 
the knees in the spume and bubble of the breakers. 
Here his own superior activity was rendered use- 


i68 THE BLACK ARROW 


less; he found himself more or less at the discre- 
tion of his foe; yet a little, and he had his back 
turned upon his own men, and saw that this adroit 
and skilful adversary was bent upon drawing him 
farther and farther away. 

Dick ground his teeth. He determined to decide 
the combat instantly; and when the wash of the 
next wave had ebbed and left them dry, he rushed 
in, caught a blow upon his bill, and leaped right at 
the throat of his opponent. The man went down 
backwards, with Dick still upon the top of him ; 
and the next wave, speedily succeeding to the last, 
buried him below a rush of water. 

While he was still submerged, Dick forced his 
dagger from his grasp, and rose to his feet, 
victorious. 

“ Yield ye! ” he said. “ I give you life.” 

“ I yield me,” said the other, getting to his knees. 
“Ye fight, like a young man, ignorantly and fool- 
hardily; but, by the array of the saints, ye fight 
bravely ! ” 

Dick turned to the beach. The combat was 
still raging doubtfully ' in the night ; over the 
hoarse roar of the breakers steel clanged upon 
steel, and cries of pain and the shout of battle 
resounded. 

“ Lead me to your captain, youth,” said the con- 
quered knight. “ It is fit this butchery should 
cease.” 

“ Sir,” replied Dick, “ so far as these brave fel- 
lows have a captain, the poor gentleman who here 
addresses you is he.” 


THE BLACK ARROW 169 

“ Call of¥ your dogs, then, and I will bid my 
villains hold,” returned the other. 

There was something noble both in the voice and 
manner of his late opponent, and Dick instantly 
dismissed all fears of treachery, 

“ Lay down your arms, men ! ” cried the 
stranger knight. “ I have yielded me, upon prom- 
ise of life.” 

The tone of the stranger was one of absolute 
command, and almost instantly the din and confu- 
sion of the mellay ceased. 

“Lawless,” cried Dick, “are ye safe?” 

“ Ay,” cried Lawless, “ safe and hearty.” 

“ Light me the lantern,” said Dick. 

“ Is not Sir Daniel here?” inquired the knight. 

“ Sir Daniel ? ” echoed Dick. “ Now, by the 
rood, I pray not. It would go ill with me if he 
were,” 

“111 with you, fair sir?” inquired the other. 
“ Nay, then, if ye be not of Sir Daniel’s party, I 
profess I comprehend no longer. Wherefore, then, 
fell ye upon mine ambush? in what quarrel, my 
young and very fiery friend ? to what earthly pur- 
pose? and, to make a clear end of questioning, to 
what good gentleman have I surrendered ? ” 

But before Dick could answer, a voice spoke in 
the darkness from close by. Dick could see the 
speaker’s black and white badge, and the respectful 
salute which he addressed to his superior. 

“ My lord,” said he, “ if these gentlemen be 
unfriends to Sir Daniel, it is pity, indeed, we should 
have been at blows with them ; but it were tenfold 


170 THE BLACK ARROW 

greater that either they or we should linger here. 
The watchers in the house — unless they be all 
dead or deaf — have heard our hammering this 
quarter-hour agone; instantly they will have sig- 
nalled to the town; and unless we be the livelier 
in our departure, we are like to be taken, both of 
us, by a fresh foe.” 

“ Hawksley is in the right,” added the lord. 

“ How please ye, sir? Whither shall we march? ” 

“ Nay, my lord,” said Dick, “ go where ye will ” 
for me. I do begin to suspect we have some ground 
of friendship, and if, indeed, I began our acquaint- 
ance somewhat ruggedly, I would not churlishly 
continue. Let us, then, separate, my lord, you lay- 
ing your right hand in mine ; and at the hour and 
place that ye shall name, let us encounter and 
agree.” 

“ Y’ are too trustful, boy,” said the other ; “ but 
this time your trust is not misplaced. I will meet 
you at the point of day at St. Bride’s Cross. Come, 
lads, follow ! ” 

The strangers disappeared from the scene with a 
rapidity that seemed suspicious ; and while the out- 
laws fell to the congenial task of rifling the dead 
bodies, Dick made once more the circuit of the gar- 
den wall to examine the front of the house. In a 
little upper loophole of the roof he beheld a light 
set; and as it would certainly be visible in town 
from the back windows of Sir Daniel’s mansion, 
he doubted not that this was the signal feared by 
Hawksley, and that ere long the lances of the 
Knight of Tunstall would arrive upon the scene. 


THE BLACK ARROW 171 

^ He put his ear to the ground, and it seemed to 
him as if he heard a jarring and hollow noise from 
! townward. Back to the beach he went hurrying. 

I But the work was already done ; the last body was 
j disarmed and stripped to the skin, and four fellows 
; were already wading seaward to commit it to the 
i mercies of the deep. 

I A few minutes later, when there debouched out 
of the nearest lanes of Shoreby some two-score 
horsemen, hastily arrayed and moving at the gallop 
of their steeds, the neighbourhood of the house 
beside the sea was entirely silent and deserted. 

Meanwhile, Dick and his men had returned to 
the alehouse of the Goat and Bagpipes to snatch 
some hours of sleep before the morning tryst. 


CHAPTER III 


ST. BRIDE’S CROSS 

S T. BRIDE’S CROSS stood a little way back, 
from Shoreby, on the skirts of Tunstall 
Forest. Two roads met: one, from Holy- 
wood across the forest ; one, that road from 
Risingham down which we saw the wrecks of a 
Lancastrian army fleeing in disorder. Here tlie 
two joined issue, and went on together down the 
liill to Shoreby; and a little back from the point of 
junction, the summit of a little knoll was crowned 
by the ancient and weather-beaten cross. 

Here, then, about seven in the morning, Dick 
arrived. It was as cold as ever ; the earth was all 
grey and silver with the hoar-frost, and the day 
began to break in the east with many colours of 
purple and orange. 

Dick set him down upon the lowest step of the 
cross, wrapped himself well in his tabard, and 
looked vigilantly upon all sides. He had not long 
to wait. Down the road from Holywood a gentle- 
man in very rich and bright armour, and wearing 
over that a surcoat of the rarest furs, came pacing 
on a splendid charger. Twenty yards behind him 
followed a clump of lances; but these halted as 
soon as they came in view of the trysting-place. 


THE BLACK ARROW 173 

while the gentleman in the fur surcoat continued 
to advance alone. 

His visor was raised, and showed a countenance 
of great command and dignity, answerable to the 
richness of his attire and arms. And it was with 
some confusion of manner that Dick arose from 
the cross and stepped down the bank to meet* his 
prisoner. 

“ I thank you, my lord, for your exactitude,” he 
said, louting very low. “ Will it please your lord- 
ship to set foot to earth ? ” 

“ Are ye here alone, young man ? ” inquired the 
other. 

“ I was not so simple,” answered Dick ; “ and, 
to be plain with your lordship, the woods upon 
either hand of this cross lie full of mine honest 
fellows lying on their weapons.” 

“ Y’ ’ave done wisely,” said the lord. “ It 
pleaseth me the rather, since last night ye fought 
foolhardily, and more like a salvage Saracen lu- 
natic than any Christian warrior. But it becomes 
not me to complain that had the undermost.” 

“ Ye had the undermost indeed, my lord, since 
ye so fell,” returned Dick ; “ but had the waves 
not holpen me, it was I that should have had the 
worst. Ye were pleased to make me yours with 
several dagger marks, which I still carry. And in 
fine, my lord, methinks I had all the danger, as well 
as all the profit, of that little blind-man’s mellay on 
the beach.” 

“ Y’ are shrewd enough to make light of it, I 
see,” returned the stranger. 


174 THE BLACK ARROW 

“ Nay, my lord, not shrewd,” replied Dick, “ in 
that I shoot at no advantage to myself. But when, 
by the light of this new day, 1 see how stout a 
knight hath yielded, not to my arms alone, but to 
fortune, and the darkness, and the surf — and how ' 
easily the battle had gone otherwise, with a soldier 
so untried and rustic as myself — think it not 
strange, my lord, if I feel confounded with my 
victory.” 

“Ye speak well,” said the stranger. “ Your 
name? ” 

“ My name, an ’t like you, is Shelton,” answered 
Dick. 

“ Men call me the Lord Foxham,” added the 
other. 

“ Then, my lord, and under your good favour, 
ye are guardian to the sweetest maid in England,” 
replied Dick ; “ and for your ransom, and the 
ransom of such as were taken with you on 
the beach, there will be no uncertainty of terms.’ 
I pray you, my lord, of your good-will and 
charity, yield me the hand of my mistress, Joan 
Sedley; and take ye, upon the other part, your 
liberty, the liberty of these your followers, and 
(if ye will have it) my gratitude and service till 
I die.” 

“ But are ye not ward to Sir Daniel ? Me- 
thought, if y’ are Harry Shelton’s son, that I had 
heard it so reported,” said Lord Foxham. 

“ Will it please you, my lord, to alight ? I would 
fain tell you fully who I am, how situate, and why 
so bold in my demands. Beseech you, my lord, 


THE BLACK ARROW 175 

take place upon these steps, hear me to a full end, 
and judge me with allowance.” 

And so saying, Dick lent a hand to Lord Fox- 
ham to dismount; led him up the knoll to the 
cross ; installed him in the place where he had him- 
self been sitting; and standing respectfully before 
his noble prisoner, related the story of his fortunes 
up to the events of the evening before. 

Lord Foxham listened gravely, and when Dick 
had done, “ Master Shelton,” he said, “ ye are a 
most fortunate-unfortunate young gentleman; but 
what fortune y’ ’ave had, that ye have amply mer- 
ited; and what unfortune, ye have noways de- 
served. Be of a good cheer; for ye have made a 
friend who is devoid neither of power nor favour. 
For yourself, although it fits not for a person of 
your birth to herd with outlaws, I must own ye are 
both brave and honourable; very dangerous in 
battle, right courteous in peace; a youth of ex- 
cellent disposition and brave bearing. For your 
estates, ye will never see them till the world shall 
change again ; so long as Lancaster hath the strong 
hand, so long shall Sir Daniel enjoy them for his 
own. For my ward, it is another matter; I had 
promised her before to a gentleman, a kinsman of 
my house, one Hamley ; the promise is old ” 

“ Ay, my lord, and now Sir Daniel hath prom- 
ised her to my Lord Shoreby,” interrupted Dick. 
“ And his promise, for all it is but young, is still 
the likelier to be made good.” 

“ ’T is the plain truth,” returned his lordship. 
“ And considering, moreover, that I am your 


176 THE BLACK ARROW 

prisoner, upon no better composition than my bare 
life, and over and above that, that the maiden is 
unhappily in other hands, I will so far consent. Aid 

me with your good fellows ” 

“ My lord,” cried Dick, “ they are these same 
outlaws that ye blame me for consorting with.” 

” Let them be what they will, they can fight,” 
returned Lord Foxham. “ Help me, then ; and if 
between us we regain the maid, upon my knightly 
honour, she shall marry you ! ” 

Dick bent his knee before his prisoner; but he, 
leaping up lightly from the cross, caught the lad up 
and embraced him like a son. 

“ Come,” he said, “ an y’ are to marry Joan, we 
must be early friends.” 


CHAPTER IV 


THE “GOOD HOPE’* 

AN hour thereafter, Dick was back at the Goat 
L\ and Bagpipes, breaking his fast, and re- 
X ^ ceiving the report of his messengers and 
sentries. Duckworth was still absent from Shoreby ; 
and this was frequently the case, for he played 
many parts in the world, shared many different 
interests, and conducted many various affairs. He 
had founded that fellowship of the Black Arrow, 
as a ruined man longing for vengeance and money ; 
and yet among those who knew him -best, he was 
thought to be the agent and emissary of the 
great king-maker of England, Richard, Earl of 
Warwick. 

In his absence, at any rate, it fell upon Richard 
Shelton to command affairs in Shoreby; and, as 
he sat at meat, his mind was full of care, and his 
face heavy with consideration. It had been deter- 
mined, between him and the Lord Foxham, to 
make one bold stroke that evening, and, by brute 
force, to set Joanna free. The obstacles, however, 
were many ; and as one after another of his scouts 
arrived, each brought him more discomfortable 
news. 


12 


lyS THE BLACK ARROW 

Sir Daniel was alarmed by the skirmish of the 
night before. He had increased the garrison of 
the house in the garden; but not content with 
that, he had stationed horsemen in all the neigh- 
bouring lanes, so that he might have instant word 
of any movement. Meanwhile, in the court of 
his mansion, steeds stood saddled, and the riders, 
armed at every point, awaited but the signal to 
ride. 

The adventure of the night appeared more and 
more difficult of execution, till suddenly Dick’s 
countenance lightened. 

“ Lawless ! ” he cried, “ you that were a ship- 
man, can ye steal me a ship?” 

“ Master Dick,” replied Lawless, “ if ye would 
back me, I would agree to steal York Minster.” 

Presently after, these two set forth and de- 
scended to the harbour. It was a considerable 
basin, lying among sand-hills, and surrounded with 
patches of down, ancient ruinous lumber, and 
tumble-down slums of the town. Many decked 
ships and many open boats either lay there at 
anchor, or had been drawn up on the beach. A 
long duration of bad weather had driven them 
from the high seas into the shelter of the port; 
and the great trooping of black clouds, and the 
cold squalls that followed one another, now with 
a sprinkling of dry snow, now in a mere swoop of 
wind, promised no improvement but rather threat- 
ened a more serious storm in the immediate future. 

The seamen, in view of the cold and the wind, 
had for the most part slunk ashore, and were now 


THE BLACK ARROW 179 

roaring and singing in the shoreside taverns 
Many of the ships already rode unguarded at their 
anchors ; and as the day wore on, and the weather 
offered no appearance of improvement, the number 
was continually being augmented. It was to these 
deserted ships, and, above all, to those of them 
that lay far out, that Lawless directed his atten- 
tion ; while Dick, seated upon an anchor that was 
half embedded in the sand, and giving ear, now 
to the rude, potent, and boding voices of the gale, 
and now to the hoarse singing of the shipmen in 
a neighbouring tavern, soon forgot his immediate 
surroundings and concerns in the agreeable recol- 
lection of Lord Foxham’s promise. 

He was disturbed by a touch upon his shoulder. 
It was Lawless, pointing to a small ship that lay 
somewhat by itself, and within but a little of the 
harbour mouth, where it heaved regularly and 
smoothly on the entering swell. A pale gleam of 
winter sunshine fell, at that moment, on the ves- 
sel's deck, relieving her against a bank of scowl- 
ing cloud; and in this momentary glitter Dick 
could see a couple of men hauling the skiff 
alongside. 

“ There, sir,” said Lawless, “ mark ye it well ! 
There is the ship for to-night.” 

Presently the skiff put out from the vessel’s side, 
and the two men, keeping her head well to the 
wind, pulled lustily for shore. Lawless turned to 
a loiterer. 

“ How call ye her?” he asked, pointing to the 
little vessel. 


i8o THE BLACK ARROW 


“ They call her the Good Hope, of Dartmouth,” 
replied the loiterer. “ Her captain, Arblaster by 
name. He pulleth the bow oar in yon skiff.” 

This was all that Lawless wanted. Hurriedly 
thanking the man, he moved round the shore to a 
certain sandy creek, for which the skiff was head- 
ing. There he took up his position, and as soon as 
they were within earshot, opened fire on the sailors 
of the Good Hope. 

“ What ! Gossip Arblaster ! ” he cried. “ Why, 
ye be well met; nay, gossip, ye be right well met, 
lipon the rood ! And is that the Good Hope? Ay, 
I would know her among ten thousand ! — a sweet 
shear, a sweet boat! But marry come up, my 
gossip, will ye drink? I have come into mine 
estate which doubtless ye remember to have heard 
on. I am now rich; I have left to sail upon the 
sea; I do sail now, for the most part, upon spiced 
ale. Come, fellow; thy hand upon ’t! Come, 
drink with an old shipfellow ! ” 

Skipper Arblaster, a long-faced, elderly, weather- 
beaten man, with a knife hanging about his neck 
by a plaited cord, and for all the world like any 
modern seaman in his gait and bearing, had hung 
back in obvious amazement and distrust. But the 
name of an estate, and a certain air of tipsified sim- 
plicity and good-fellowship which Lawless very 
well affected, combined to conquer his suspicious 
jealousy; his countenance relaxed, and he at once 
extended his open hand and squeezed that of the 
outlaw in a formidable grasp. 

“ Nay,” he said, “ I cannot mind you. But what 


THE BLACK ARROW i8i 


o’ that? I would drink with any man, gossip, and 
so would my man Tom. Man Tom,” he added, 
addressing his follower, “ here is my gossip, whose 
name I cannot mind, but no doubt a very good sea- 
man. Let ’s go drink with him and his shore 
friend.” 

Lawless led the way, and they were soon seated 
in an alehouse, which, as it was very new, and 
stood in an exposed and solitary station, was less 
crowded than those nearer to the centre of the port. 
It was but a shed of timber, much like a blockhouse 
in the backwoods of to-day, and was coarsely fur- 
nished with a press or two, a number of naked 
benches, and boards set upon barrels to play the 
part of tables. In the middle, and besieged by half 
a hundred violent draughts, a fire of wreck-wood 
blazed and vomited thick smoke. 

“ Ay, now,” said Lawless, “ here is a shipman’s 
joy — a good fire and a good stiff cup ashore, with 
foul weather without and an off-sea gale a-snoring 
in the roof! Here ’s to the Good Hope! May she 
ride easy! ” 

“ Ay,” said Skipper Arblaster, “ ’t is good 
weather to be ashore in, that is sooth. Man 
Tom, how say ye to that? Gossip, ye speak well, 
though I can never think upon your name; but 
ye speak very well. May the Good Hope ride 
easy ! Amen ! ” 

‘‘ Friend Dickon,” resumed Lawless, address- 
ing his commander, “ ye have certain matters on 
hand, unless I err? Well, prithee be about them 
incontinently. For here I be with the choice of all 


i 82 the black arrow 


good company, two tough old shipmen ; and till 
that ye return I will go warrant these brave fellows 
will bide here and drink me cup for cup. We are 
not like shore-men, we old, tough tarry-Johns! ” 

“ It is well meant,” returned the skipper, “ Ye 
can go, boy ; for I will keep your good friend and 
my good gossip company till curfew — ay, and by 
St. Mary, till the sun get up again ! For, look ye, 
when a man hath been long enough at sea, the salt 
getteth me into the clay upon his bones; and let 
him drink a draw-well, he will never be quenched.” 

Thus encouraged upon all hands, Dick rose, 
saluted his company, and going forth again into 
the gusty afternoon, got him as speedily as he 
might to the Goat and Bagpipes. Thence he sent 
word to my Lord Foxham that, so soon as ever the 
evening closed, they would have a stout boat to 
keep the sea in. And then leading along with him 
a couple of outlaws who had some experience of 
the sea, he returned himself to the harbour and the 
little sandy creek. 

The skitf of the Good Hope lay among many 
others, from which it was easily distinguished by 
its extreme smallness and fragility. Indeed, when 
Dick and his two men had taken their places, and 
begun to put forth out of the creek into the open 
harbour, the little cockle dipped into the swell and 
staggered under every gust of wind, like a thing 
upon the point of sinking. 

The Good Hope, as we have said, was anchored 
far out, where the swell was heaviest. No other 
vessel lay nearer than several cables’ length ; those 


THE BLACK ARROW 183 

that were the nearest were themselves entirely de- 
serted; and as the skiff approached, a thick flurry 
of snow and a sudden darkening of the weather 
further concealed the movements of the outlaws 
from all possible espial. In a trice they had leaped 
upon the heaving deck, and the skiff was dancing 
at the stern. The Good Hope was captured. 

She was a good stout boat, decked in the bows 
and amidships, but open in the stern. She carried 
one mast, and was rigged between a felucca and a 
lugger. It would seem that Skipper Arblaster had 
made an excellent venture, for the hold was full 
of pieces of French wine; and in the little cabin, 
besides the Virgin Mary in the bulkhead which 
proved the captain’s piety, there were many lock- 
fast chests and cupboards, which showed him to be 
rich and careful, 

A dog, who was the sole occupant of the vessel, 
furiously barked and bit the heels of the boarders ; 
but he was soon kicked into the cabin, and the door 
shut upon his just resentment. A lamp was lit and 
fixed in the shrouds to mark the vessel clearly from 
the shore; one of the wine pieces in the hold was 
broached, and a cup of excellent Gascony emptied 
to the adventure of the evening; and then, while 
one of the outlaws began to get ready his bow and 
arrows and prepare to hold the ship against all 
comers, the other hauled in the skiff and got over- 
board, where he held on, waiting for Dick. 

“ Well, Jack, keep me a good watch,” said the 
young commander, preparing to follow his sub- 
ordinate. “Ye will do right well.” 


i 84 the black arrow 

“ Why,” returned Jack, “ I shall do excellent 
well indeed, so long as we lie here ; but once we put 

the nose of this poor ship outside the harbour 

See, there she trembles! Nay, the poor shrew 
heard the words, and the heart misgave her in hier 
oak-tree ribs. But look. Master Dick! how black 
the weather gathers! ” 

The darkness ahead was, indeed, astonishing. 
Great billows heaved up out of the blackness, one 
after another; and one after another the Good 
Hope buoyantly climbed, and giddily plunged upon 
the further side. A thin sprinkle of snow and 
thin flakes of foam came flying, and powdered the 
deck; and the wind harped dismally among the 
rigging. 

“ In sooth, it looketh evilly,” said Dick. “ But 
what cheer ! ’T is but a squall, and presently it will 
blow over.” But, in spite of his words, he was 
depressingly affected by the bleak disorder of the 
sky and the wailing and fluting of the wind ; and 
as he got over the side of the Good Hope and made 
once more for the landing-creek with the best speed 
of oars, he crossed himself devoutly, and recom- 
mended to Heaven the lives of all who should 
adventure on the sea. 

At the landing-creek there had already gathered 
about a dozen of the outlaws. To these the skiff 
was left, and they were bidden embark without 
delay. 

A little further up the beach Dick found 
Lord Foxham hurrying in quest of him, his face 
concealed with a dark hood, and his bright 


THE BLACK ARROW 185 

armour covered by a long russet mantle of a poor 
appearance. 

“ Young Shelton,” he said, “ are ye for sea, 
then, truly ? ” 

“ My lord,” replied Richard, “ they lie about the 
house with horsemen ; it may not be reached from 
the land side without alarum ; and Sir Daniel once 
advertised of our adventure, we can no more carry 
it to a good end than, saving your presence, we 
could ride upon the wind. Now, in going round 
by sea, we do run some peril by the elements ; but, 
what much outweighteth all, we have a chance to 
make good our purpose and bear off the maid.” 

“Well,” returned Lord Foxham, “lead on. I 
will, in some sort, follow you for shame’s sake; 
but I own I would I were in bed.” 

“ Here, then,” said Dick. “ Hither we go to 
fetch our pilot.” 

And he led the way to the rude alehouse where 
he had given rendezvous to a portion of his men. 
Some of these he found lingering round the door 
outside; others had pushed more boldly in, and, 
choosing places as near as possible to where they 
saw their comrade, gathered close about Lawless 
and the two shipmen. These, to judge by the dis- 
tempered countenance and cloudy eye, had long 
since gone beyond the boundaries of moderation; 
and as Richard entered, closely followed by Lord 
Foxham, they were all three tuning up an old, 
pitiful sea-ditty, to the chorus of the wailing of the 
gale. 

The young leader cast a rapid glance about the 


i86 the black arrow 


shed. The fire had just been replenished, and gave 
forth volumes of black smoke, so that it was diffi- 
cult to see clearly in the further corners. It was 
plain, however, that the outlaws very largely out- 
numbered the remainder of the guests. Satisfied 
upon this point, in case of any failure in the opera- 
tion of his plan, Dick strode up to the table and 
resumed his place upon the bench. 

“ Hey? ” cried the skipper, tipsily, “ who are ye, 
hey? ” 

“ I want a word with you without. Master Ar- 
blaster,” returned Dick ; “ and here is what we 
shall talk of.” And he showed him a gold noble 
in the glimmer of the firelight. 

The Shipman’s eyes burned, although he still 
failed to recognise our hero. 

“ Ay, boy,” he said, “ I am with you. Gossip, I 
will be back anon. Drink fair, gossip ” ; and, 
taking Dick’s arm to steady his uneven steps, he 
walked to the door of the alehouse. 

As soon as he was over the threshold, ten strong 
arms had seized and bound him ; and in two min- 
utes more, with his limbs trussed one to another, 
and a good gag in his mouth, he had been tumbled 
neck and crop into a neighbouring hay-barn. Pres- 
ently, his man Tom, similarly secured, was tossed 
beside him, and the pair were left to their uncouth 
reflections for the night. 

And now, as the time for concealment had gone 
by. Lord Foxham’s followers were summoned by 
a preconcerted signal, and the party, boldly taking 
possession of as many boats as their numbers re- 


THE BLACK ARROW 187 

quired, pulled in a flotilla for the light in the rig- 
ging of the ship. Long before the last man had 
climbed to the deck of the Good Hope, the sound 
of furious shouting from the shore showed that a 
part, at least, of the seamen had discovered the loss 
of their skiffs. 

But it was now too late, whether for recovery or 
revenge. Out of some forty fighting men now 
mustered in the stolen ship, eight had been to sea, 
and could play the part of mariners. With the aid 
of these, a slice of sail was got upon her. The 
cable was cut. Lawless, vacillating on his feet, and 
still shouting the chorus of sea-ballads, took the 
long tiller in his hands : and the Good Hope began 
to flit forward into the darkness of the night, and 
to face the great waves beyond the harbour bar. 

Richard took his place beside the weather rig- 
ging. Except for the ship’s own lantern, and for 
some lights in Shoreby town, that were already 
fading to leeward, the whole world of air was as 
black as in a pit. Only from time to time, as the 
Good Hope swooped dizzily down into the valley 
of the rollers, a crest would break — a great cata- 
*'act of snowy foam would leap in one instant into 
being — and, in an instant more, would stream 
into the wake and vanish. 

Many of the men lay holding on and praying 
aloud ; many more were sick, and had crept into 
the bottom, where they sprawled among the cargo. 
And what with the extreme violence of the motion, 
and the continued drunken bravado of Lawless, 
still shouting and singing at the helm, the stoutest 


i88 THE BLACK ARROW 


heart on board may have nourished a shrewd mis- 
giving as to the result. 

But Lawless, as if guided by an instinct, steered 
the ship across the breakers, struck the lee of a 
great sand-bank, where they sailed for awhile in 
smooth water, and presently after laid her along- 
side a rude stone pier, where she was hastily made 
fast, and lay ducking and grinding in the dark. 


CHAPTER V 


THE “GOOD HOPE” 

{continued) 


T he pier was not far distant from the 
house in which Joanna lay; it now only 
remained to get the men on shore, to sur- 
round the house with a strong party, burst in the 
door and carry off the captive. They might then 
regard themselves as done with the Good Hope; 
it had placed them on the rear of their enemies ; and 
the retreat, whether they should succeed or fail in 
the main enterprise, would be directed with a 
greater measure of hope in the direction of the 
forest and my Lord Foxham’s reserve. 

To get the men on shore, however, was no easy 
task ; many had been sick, all were pierced with 
cold ; the promiscuity and disorder on board had 
shaken their discipline; the movement of the ship 
and the darkness of the night had cowed their 
spirits. They made a rush upon the pier ; my lord, 
with his sword drawn on his own retainers, must 
throw himself in front; and this impulse of rabble- 
ment was not restrained without a certain clamour 
of voices, highly to be regretted in the case. 

When some degree of order had been restored, 
Dick, with a few chosen men, set forth in advance. 


190 THE BLACK ARROW 

The darkness on shore, by contrast with the flash- 
ing of the surf, appeared before him like a solid 
body; and the howling and whistling of the gale 
drowned any lesser noise. 

He had scarce reached the end of the pier, how- 
ever, when there fell a lull of the wind ; and in this 
he seemed to hear on shore the hollow footing of 
horses and the clash of arms. Checking his imme- 
diate followers, he passed forward a step or two 
alone, even setting foot upon the down; and here 
he made sure he could detect the shape of men and 
horses moving. A strong discouragement assailed 
him. If their enemies were really on the watch, if 
they had beleaguered the shoreward end of the pier, 
he and Lord Foxham were taken in a posture of 
very poor defence, the sea behind, the men jostled 
in the dark upon a narrow causeway. He gave a 
cautious whistle, the signal previously agreed upon. 

It proved to be a signal far more than he desired. 
Instantly there fell, through the black night, a 
shower of arrows sent at a venture; and so close 
were the men huddled on the pier that more than 
one was hit, and the arrows were answered with 
cries of both fear and pain. In this first discharge. 
Lord Foxham was struck down; Hawksley had 
him carried on board again at once ; and his men, 
during the brief remainder of the skirmish, fought 
(when they fought at all) without guidance. That 
was perhaps the chief cause of the disaster which 
made haste to follow. 

At the shore end of the pier, for perhaps a 
minute, Dick held his own with a handful ; one or 


THE BLACK ARROW 191 


two were wounded upon either side; steel crossed 
steel ; nor had there been the least signal of advan- 
tage, when in the twinkling of an eye the tide 
turned against the party from the ship. Some one 
cried out that all was lost; the men were in the 
very humour to lend an ear to a discomfortable 
counsel ; the cry was taken up. “ On board, lads, 
for your lives ! ” cried another. A third, with the 
true instinct of the coward, raised that inevitable 
report on all retreats: “ We are betrayed! ” And 
in a moment the whole mass of men went surging 
and jostling backward down the pier, turning their 
defenceless backs on their pursuers and piercing 
the night with craven outcry. 

One coward thrust off the ship’s stern, while an- 
other still held her by the bows. The fugitives 
leaped, screaming, and were hauled on board, or fell 
back and perished in the sea. Some were cut down 
upon the pier by the pursuers. Many were injured 
on the ship’s deck in the blind haste and terror of 
the moment, one man leaping upon another, and a 
third on both. At last, and whether by design or 
accident, the bows of the Good Hope were liberated ; 
and the ever-ready Lawless, who had maintained 
his place at the helm through all the hurly-burly 
by sheer strength of body and a liberal use of the 
cold steel, instantly clapped her on the proper tack. 
The ship began to move once more forward on the 
stormy sea, its scuppers running blood, its deck 
heaped with fallen men, sprawling and struggling 
in the dark. 

Thereupon, Lawless sheathed his dagger, and 


192 THE Bf^ACK ARROW 

turning to his next neighbour, “ I have left my 
mark on them, gossip,” said he, “ the yelping, 
coward hounds.” 

Now, while they were all leaping and struggling 
for their lives, the men had not appeared to observe 
the rough shoves and cutting stabs with which 
Lawless had held his post in the confusion. But 
perhaps they had already begun to understand 
somewhat more clearly, or perhaps another ear had 
overheard, the helmsman’s speech. 

Panic-stricken troops recover slowly, and men 
who have just disgraced themselves by cowardice, 
as if to wipe out the memory of their fault, will 
sometimes run straight into the opposite extreme 
of insubordination. So it was now ; and the same 
men who had thrown away their weapons and been 
hauled, feet-foremost, into the Good Hope, began 
to cry out upon their leaders, and demand that 
some one should be punished. 

This growing ill-feeling turned upon Lawless. 

In order to get a proper offing, the old outlaw- 
had put the head of the Good Hope to seaward. 

“ What ! ” bawled one of the grumblers, “ he 
carrieth us to seaward ! ” 

“ ’T is sooth,” cried another. “ Nay, we are 
betrayed for sure.” 

And they all began to cry out in chorus that they 
were betrayed, and in shrill tones and with abom- 
inable oaths bade Lawless go about-ship and bring 
them speedily ashore. Lawless, grinding his teeth, 
continued in silence to steer the true course, guid- 
ing the Good Hope among the formidable billows^ 


THE BLACK ARROW 193 

To their empty terrors, as to their dishonourable 
threats, between drink and dignity he scorned to 
make reply. The malcontents drew together a 
little abaft the mast, and it was plain they were 
like barnyard cocks, “ crowing for courage.” Pres- 
ently they would be fit for any extremity of injus- 
tice or ingratitude. Dick began to mount by the 
ladder, eager to interpose; but one of the out- 
laws, who was also something of a seaman, got 
beforehand. 

“ Lads,” he began, “ y’ are right wooden heads, 
I think. For to get back, by the mass, we must 
have an offing, must we not ? And this old 
Lawless ” 

Some one struck the speaker on the mouth, and 
the next moment, as a fire springs among dry 
straw, he was felled upon the deck, trampled under 
the feet, and despatched by the daggers of his 
cowardly companions. At this the wrath of Law- 
less rose and broke. 

“Steer yourselves,” he bellowed, with a curse; 
and, careless of the result, he left the helm. 

The Good Hope was, at that moment, trembling 
on the summit of a swell. She subsided, with 
sickening velocity, upon fhe farther side. A wave, 
like a great black bulwark, hove immediately in 
front of her; and, wich a staggering blow, she 
plunged head-foremos't through that liquid hill. 
The green water passed right over her from 
stem to stern, as high as a man’s knees; the 
sprays ran higher than the mast; and she rose 
again upon the other side, with an appalling. 


194 the black arrow 

tremulous indecision, like a beast that has been 
deadly wounded. 

Six or seven of the malcontents had been carried 
bodily overboard ; and as for the remainder, when 
they found their tongues again, it was to bellow to 
the saints and wail upon Lawless to come back and 
take the tiller. 

Nor did Lawless wait to be twice bidden. The 
terrible result of his fling of just resentment sobered 
him completely. He knew, better than any one on 
board, how nearly the Good Hope had gone bodily 
down below their feet; and he could tell, by the 
laziness with which she met the sea, that the peril 
was by no means over. 

Dick, who had been thrown down by the con- 
cussion and half drowned, rose wading to his knees 
in the swamped well of the stern, and crept to the 
old helmsman’s side. 

“ Lawless,” he said, “ we do all depend on you ; 
y* are a brave, steady man, indeed, and crafty in 
the management of ships; I shall put three sure 
men to watch upon your safety.” 

“ Bootless, my master, bootless,” said the steers- 
man, peering forward through the dark. “ We 
come every moment somewhat clearer of these 
sand-banks ; with every moment, then, the sea 
packeth upon us heavier, and for all these whim- 
perers, they will presently be on their backs. For, 
my master, ’t is a right mystery, but true, there 
never yet was a bad man that was a good shipman. 
None but the honest and the bold can endure me 
this tossing of a ship.” 


THE BLACK ARROW 195 

“ Xay, Lawless,” said Dick, laughing, “ that is 
a right shipman’s by-word, and hath no more of 
sense than the whistle of the wind. But, prithee, 
how go we? Do we lie well? Are we in good 
case ? ” 

“ Master Shelton,” replied Lawless, “ I have 
been a Grey Friar — I praise fortune — an archer, 
a thief, and a shipman. Of all these coats, I had 
the best fancy to die in the Grey Friar’s, as ye may 
readily conceive, and the least fancy to die in John 
Shipman’s tarry jacket; and that for two excel- 
lent good reasons : first, that the death might take 
a man suddenly ; and second, for the horror of that 
great, salt smother and welter under my foot here ” 
— and Lawless stamped with his foot. “ How- 
beit,” he went on, “ an I die not a sailor’s death, 
and that this night, I shall owe a tall candle to our 
Lady.” 

“ Is it so ? ” asked Dick. 

“ It is right so,” replied the outlaw. “ Do ye 
not feel how heavy and dull she moves upon the 
waves? Do ye not hear the water washing in her 
hold ? She will scarce mind the rudder even now. 
Bide till she has settled a bit lower; and she will 
either go down below your boots like a stone 
image, or drive ashore here, under our lee, and 
come all to pieces like a twist of string.” 

“ Ye speak with a good courage,” returned Dick. 
“ Ye are not then appalled? ” 

“ Why, master,” answered Lawless, “ if ever a 
man had an ill crew to come to port with, it is I — 
a renegade friar, a thief, and all the rest on’t 


196 THE BLACK ARROW 


Well, ye may wonder, but I keep a good hope in my 
wallet ; and if that I be to drown, I will drown witli 
a bright eye. Master Shelton, and a steady hand.” 

Dick returned no answer; but he was surprised 
to find the old vagabond of so resolute a temper, 
and fearing some fresh violence or treachery, set 
forth upon his quest for three sure men. The great 
bulk of the men had now deserted the deck, which 
was continually wetted with the flying sprays, and 
where they lay exposed to the shrewdness of the 
winter wind. They had gathered, instead, into the 
hold of the merchandise, among the butts of wine, 
and lighted by two swinging lanterns. 

Here a few kept up the form of revelry, and 
toasted each other deep in Arblaster’s Gascony 
wine. But as the Good Hope continued to tear 
through the smoking waves, and toss her stem and 
stern alternately high in air and deep into white 
foam, the number of these jolly companions dimin- 
ished with every moment and with every lurch. 
Many sat apart, tending their hurts, but the ma- 
jority were already prostrated with sickness, and 
lay moaning in the bilge. 

Greensheve, Cuckow, and a young fellow of 
Lord Foxham’s whom Dick had already remarked 
for his intelligence and spirit, were still, however, 
both fit to understand and willing to obey. These 
Dick set, as a body-guard, about the person of the 
steersman, and then, with a last look at the black 
sky and sea. he turned and went below into the 
cabin, whither Lord Foxham had been carried by 
his servants. 


CHAPTER VI 


THE "GOOD HOPE” 

(concluded) 

T he moans of the wounded baron blended 
with the wailing of the ship’s dog. The 
poor animal, whether he was merely sick 
at heart to be separated from his friends, or whether 
he indeed recognised some peril in the labouring of 
the ship, raised his cries, like minute-guns, above 
the roar of wave and weather; and the more 
superstitious of the men heard, in these sounds, 
the knell of the Good Hope. 

Lord Foxham had been laid in a berth upon a 
fur cloak. A little lamp burned dim before the 
Virgin in the bulkhead, and by its glimmer Dick 
could see the pale countenance and hollow eyes of 
the hurt man. 

“ I am sore hurt,” said he. “ Come near to my 
side, young Shelton ; let there be one by me who, 
at least, is gentle born ; for after having lived nobly 
and richly all the days of my life, this is a sad pass 
that I should get my hurt in a little ferreting skir- 
mish, and die here, in a foul, cold ship upon the sea. 
among broken men and churls.” 

“ Nay, my lord,” said Dick, “ I pray rather to 
the saints that ye will recover you of your hurt;, 
and come soon and sound ashore.” 


198 THE BLACK ARROW 

“ How ! demanded his lordship. Come sound 
ashore? There is, then, a question of it? ” 

“ The ship laboureth — the sea is grievous and 
contrary,” replied the lad ; “ and by what I 
can learn of my fellow that steereth us, we 
shall do well, indeed, if we come dry-shod to 
land.” 

“ Ha ! ” said the baron, gloomily, “ thus shall 
every terror attend upon the passage of my soul ! 
Sir, pray rather to live hard, that ye may die easy, 
than to be fooled and fluted all through life, as to 
the pipe and tabor, and, in the last hour, be plunged 
among misfortunes! Howbeit, I have that upon 
my mind that must not be delayed. We have no 
priest aboard ? ” 

“ None,” replied Dick. 

“ Here, then, to my secular interests,” resumed 
Lord Foxham : “ye must be as good a friend to 
me dead, as I found you a gallant enemy when I 
was living. I fall in an evil hour for me, for 
England, and for them that trusted me. My men 
are being brought by Hamley — he that was your 
rival; they will rendezvous in the long holm at 
Holywood ; this ring from off my finger will 
accredit you to represent mine orders ; and I shall 
write, besides, two words upon this paper, bidding 
Hamley yield to you the damsel. Will he obey? 
I know not.” 

“ But, my lord, what orders ? ” inquired Dick. 

“Ay,” quoth the baron, “ay — the orders”; 
and he looked upon Dick with hesitation. “ Are 
ye Lancaster or York?” he asked, at length. 


THE BLACK ARROW 199 

“ I shame to say it,” answered Dick, “ I can 
scarce clearly answer. But so much I think is cer- 
tain : since I serve with Ellis Duckworth, I serve 
the house of York. Well, if that be so, I declare 
for York.” 

“ It is well,” returned the other ; “ it is exceed- 
ing well. For, truly, had ye said Lancaster, I wot 
not for the world what I had done. But sith ye 
are for York, follow me. I came hither but to 
watch these lords at Shoreby, while mine excellent 
young lord, Richard of Gloucester,^ prepareth a 
sufficient force to fall upon and scatter them. I 
have made me notes of their strength, what watch 
they keep, and how they lie; and these I was to 
deliver to my young lord on Sunday, an hour be- 
fore noon, at St. Bride’s Cross beside the forest. 
This tryst I am not like to keep, but I pray 
you, of courtesy, to keep it in my stead; and 
see that not pleasure, nor pain, tempest, wound, 
nor pestilence withhold you from the hour and 
place, for the welfare of England lieth upon this 
cast,” 

“ I do soberly take this upon me,” said Dick. 
“ In so far as in me lieth, your purpose shall be 
done.” 

“ It is good,” said the wounded man, “ My 
lord duke shall order you farther, and if ye 
obey him with spirit and good-will, then is your 
fortune made. Give me the lamp a little nearer 

1 At the date of this story, Richard Crookback could not have 
been created Duke of Gloucester; but for clearness, with the 
reader’s leave, he shall so be called. 


-oo THE BLACK ARROW 


to mine eyes, till that I write these words for 
you.” 

He wrote a note “ to his worshipful kinsman, Sir 
John Hamley ” ; and then a second, which he left 
without external superscripture. 

“ This is for the duke,” he said. “ The word is 
‘ England and Edward,’ and the counter, ‘ England 
and York.’ ” 

“ And Joanna, my lord? ” asked Dick. 

“ Nay, ye must get Joanna how ye can,” replied 
the baron. “ I have named you for my choice in 
both these letters; but ye must get her for your- 
self, boy. I have tried, as ye see here before 
you, and have lost my life. More could no 
man do.” 

By this time the wounded man began to be very 
weary; and Dick, putting the precious papers in 
his bosom, bade him be of good cheer, and left him 
to repose. 

The day was beginning to break, cold and blue, 
with flying squalls of snow. Close under the lee . 
of the Good Hope, the coast lay in alternate rocky 
headlands and sandy bays ; and further inland the 
wooded hill-tops of Tunstall showed along the sky. 
Both the wind and the sea had gone down ; but the 
vessel wallowed deep, and scarce rose upon the 
waves. 

Lawless was still fixed at the rudder ; and by this 
time nearly all the men had crawled on deck, and 
were now gazing, with blank faces, upon the inhos- 
pitable coast. 

“Are we going ashore?” asked Dick. 


THE BLACK ARROW 201 


Ay,” said Lawless, “ unless we get first to the 
bottom.” 

And just then the ship rose so languidly to meet 
a sea, and the water weltered so loudly in her hold, 
that Dick involuntarily seized the steersman by the 
arm. 

“ By the mass ! ” cried Dick, as the bows of the 
Good Hope reappeared above the foam, “ I thought 
we had foundered, indeed; my heart was at my 
throat.” 

In the waist, Greensheve, Hawksley, and the 
better men of both companies were busy breaking 
up the deck to build a raft; and to these Dick 
joined himself, working the harder to drown the 
memory of his predicament. But, even as he 
worked, every sea that struck the poor ship, and 
e\'ery one of her dull lurches, as she tumbled 
wallowing among the waves, recalled him with a 
horrid pang to the immediate proximity of death. 

Presently, looking up from his work, he saw 
that they were close in below a promontory ; a piece 
of ruinous cliff, against the base of which the sea 
broke white and heavy, almost overplumbed the 
deck; and, above that, again, a house appeared, 
crowning a down. 

Inside the bay the seas ran gaily, raised the 
Good Hope upon their foam-flecked shoulders, 
carried her beyond the control of the steersman, 
and in a moment dropped her, with a great con- 
cussion, on the sand, and began to break over her 
half-mast high, and roll her to and fro. Another 
great wave followed, raised her again, and carried 


202 THE BLACK ARROW 


her yet farther in ; and then a third succeeded, and 
left her far inshore of the more dangerous breake^ 
wedged upon a bank. ' 

“ Now, boys,” cried Lawless, “ the saints have 
had a care of us, indeed. The tide ebbs ; let us but 
sit down and drink a cup of wine, and before half 
an hour ye may all march me ashore as safe as on a 
bridge.” 

A barrel was broached, and, sitting in what 
shelter they could find from the flying snow and 
spray, the shipwrecked company handed the cup 
around, and sought to warm their bodies and re- 
store their spirits. 

Dick, meanwhile, returned to Lord Foxham, 
who lay in great perplexity and fear, the floor of 
his cabin washing knee-deep in water, and the lamp, 
which had been his only light, broken and extin- 
guished by the violence of the blow. 

“ My lord,” said young Shelton, “ fear not at 
all ; the saints are plainly for us ; the seas have 
cast us high upon a shoal, and as soon as the tide 
hath somewhat ebbed, we may walk ashore upon 
our feet.” 

It was nearly an hour before the vessel was 
sufficiently deserted by the ebbing sea, and they 
/ could set forth for the land, which appeared dimly 
before them through a veil of driving snow. 

Upon a hillock on one side of their way a party 
of men lay huddled together, suspiciously observing 
the movements of the new arrivals. 

“ They might draw near and offer us some com- 
fort,” Dick remarked. 


THE BLACK ARROW 203 

“ Well, an’ they come not to us, let us even turn 
aside to them,” said Hawksley. “ The sooner we 
come to a good fire and a dry bed the better for my 
poor lord.” 

But they had not moved far in the direction of 
the hillock, before the men, with one consent, rose 
suddenly to their feet, and poured a flight of well- 
directed arrows on the shipwrecked company. 

“ Back ! back ! ” cried his lordship. “ Beware, 
in Heaven’s name, that ye reply not.” 

“ Nay,” cried Greensheve, pulling an arrow 
from his leather jack. “ We are in no posture to 
fight, it is certain, being drenching wet, dog-weary, 
and three-parts frozen; but, for the love of old 
England, what aileth them to shoot thus cruelly on 
their poor country people in distress?” 

“ They take us to be French pirates,” answered 
Lord Foxham. “ In these most troublesome and 
degenerate days we cannot keep our own shores 
of England; but our old enemies, whom we once 
chased on sea and land, do now range at pleasure, 
robbing and slaughtering and burning. It is the 
pity and reproach of this poor land.” 

The men upon the hillock lay, closely observing 
them, while they trailed upward from the beach 
and wound inland among desolate sand-hills; for 
a mile or so they even hung upon the rear of the 
march, ready, at a sign, to pour another volley on 
the weary and dispirited fugitives; and it was 
only when, striking at length upon a firm highroad, 
Dick began to call his men to some more martial 
order, that these jealous guardians of the coast of 


204 the black arrow 

England silently disappeared among the snow. 
They had done what they desired; they had pro- 
tected their own homes and farms, their own fami- 
lies and cattle; and their private interest being 
thus secured, it mattered not the weight of a straw 
to any one of them, although the Frenchmen should 
carry blood and fire to every other parish in the 
realm of England. 


BOOK IV 


THE DISGUISE 


I 




CHAPTER I 

THE DEN 

T he place where Dick had struck the line 
of a highroad was not far from Holy- 
wood, and within nine or ten miles of 
Shoreby-on-the-Till ; and here, after making sure 
that they were pursued no longer, the two bodies 
separated. Lord Foxham’s followers departed, 
carrying their wounded master towards the comfort 
and security of the great abbey; and Dick, as he 
saw them wind away and disappear in the thick 
curtain of the falling snow, was left alone with 
near upon a dozen outlaws, the last remainder of 
his troop of volunteers. 

Some were wounded; one and all were furious 
at their ill-success and long exposure ; and though 
they were now too cold and hungry to do more, 
they grumbled and cast sullen looks upon their 
leaders. Dick emptied his purse among them, 
leaving himself nothing; thanked them for the 
courage they had displayed, though he could have 
found it more readily in his heart to rate them for 
poltroonery; and having thus somewhat softened 
the effect of his prolonged misfortune, despatched 
them to find their way, either severally or in pairs, 
to Shoreby and the Goat and Bagpipes. 


2o8 the black arrow 


For his own part, influenced by what he had seen 
on board of the Good Hope, he chose Lawless to 
be his companion on the walk. The snow was 
falling, without pause or variation, in one even, 
blinding cloud; the wind had been strangled, and 
now blew no longer; and the whole world was 
blotted out and sheeted down below that silent 
inundation. There was great danger of wandering 
by the way and perishing in drifts; and Lawless, 
keeping half a step in front of his companion, and 
holding his head forward like a hunting dog upon 
the scent, inquired his way of every tree, and 
studied out their path as though he were conning 
a ship among dangers. 

About a mile into the forest they came to a place 
where several ways met, under a grove of lofty and 
contorted oaks. Even in the narrow horizon of. the 
falling snow, it was a spot that could not fail to be 
recognised ; and Lawless evidently recognised it 
with particular delight. 

“ Now, Master Richard,” said he, “ an y’ are not 
too proud to be the guest of a man .who is neither 
a gentleman by birth nor so much as a good Chris- 
tian, I can offer you a cup of wine and a good fire to 
melt the marrow in your frozen bones.” , 

” Lead on. Will,” answered Dick. “ A cup of 
wine and a good fire ! Nay, I would go a far way 
round to see them.” 

Lawless turned aside under the bare branches 
of the grove, and, walking resolutely forward for 
some time, came to a steepish hollow or den, that 
had now drifted a quarter full of snow. On the 


THE BLACK ARROW 209 

verge, a great beech-tree hung, precariously rooted ; 
and here the old outlaw, pulling aside some bushy 
underwood, bodily disappeared into the earth. 

The beech had, in some violent gale, been half 
uprooted, and had torn up a considerable stretch of 
turf; and it was under this that old Lawless had 
dug out his forest hiding-place. The roots served 
him for rafters, the turf was his thatch ; for walls 
and floor he had his mother the earth. Rude as 
it was, the hearth in one corner, blackened by fire, 
and the presence in another of a large oaken chest 
well fortified with iron, showed it at one glance 
to be the den of a man, and not the burrow of a 
digging beast. 

Though the snow had drifted at the mouth and 
sifted in upon the floor of this earth cavern, 3'et 
was the air much warmer than without ; and when 
Lawless had struck a spark, and the dry furze 
bushes had begun to blaze and crackle on the 
hearth, the place assumed, even to the eye, an air 
of comfort and of home. 

With a sigh of great contentment. Lawless 
spread his broad hands before the fire, and seemed 
to breathe the smoke. 

“ Here, then,” he said, “ is this old Lawless’s 
rabbit-hole; pray Heaven there come no terrier! 
Far I have rolled hither and thither, and here and 
about, since that I was fourteen years of mine age 
and first ran away from mine abbey, with the 
sacrist’s gold chain and a mass-book that I sold 
for four marks, I have been in England and 
France and Burgundy, and in Spain, too, on a pil- 


210 THE BLACK ARROW 


grimage for my poor soul ; and upon the sea, which 
is no man’s country. But here is my place, Master 
Shelton. This is my native land, this burrow in 
the earth ! Come rain or wind — and whether it ’s 
April, and the birds all sing, and the blossoms fall 
about my bed — or whether it ’^s winter, and I sit 
alone with my good gossip the fire, and robin red 
breast twitters in the woods — here, is my church 
and market, and my wife and child. It ’s here I 
come back to, and it ’s here, so please the saints, 
that I would like to die.” 

“ ’T is a warm corner, to be sure,” replied Dick, 
and a pleasant, and a well hid.” 

“ It had need to be,” returned Lawless, “ for an 
they found it. Master Shelton, it would break my 
heart. But here,” he added, burrowing with his 
stout fingers in the sandy floor, “ here is my wine 
cellar ; and ye shall have a flask of excellent strong 
stingo.” 

Sure enough, after but a little digging, he pro- 
duced a big leathern bottle of about a gallon,* 
nearly three-parts full of a very heady and sweet 
wine ; and when they had drunk to each other com- 
radely, and the fire had been replenished and blazed 
up again, the pair lay at full length, thawing and 
steaming, and divinely warm. 

“ Master Shelton,” observed the outlaw, “ y’ ’ave 
had two mischances this last while, and y’ are like 
to lose the maid — do I take it aright? ” 

“ Aright! ” returned Dick, nodding his head. 

“ Well, now,” continued Lawless, “ hear an old 
fool that hath been nigh-hand everything, and seen 


THE BLACK ARROW 21 1 


nigh-hand all! Ye go too much on other people’s 
errands, Master Dick. Ye go on Ellis’s; but he 
desireth rather the death of Sir Daniel. Ye go on 
Lord Foxham’s ; well — the saints preserve him ! 
— doubtless he meaneth well. But go ye upon 
< your own, good Dick. Come right to the maid’s 
side. Court her, lest that she forget you. Be 
ready; and when the chance shall come, off with 
her at the saddle-bow.” 

“ Ay, but. Lawless, beyond doubt she is now in 
Sir Daniel’s own mansion,” answered Dick. 

“ Thither, then, go we,” replied the outlaw. 

Dick stared at him. 

“ Nay, I mean it,” nodded Lawless. “ And if 
y’ are of so little faith, and stumble at a word, 
see here ! ” 

And the outlaw, taking a key from about his 
neck, opened the oak chest, and dipping and grop- 
ing deep among its contents, produced first a friar’s 
robe, and next a girdle of rope; and then a huge 
rosary of wood, heavy enough to be counted as a 
weapon. 

“ Here,” he said, “ is for you. On with them I ” 

And then, when Dick had clothed himself in this 
clerical disguise. Lawless produced some colours 
and a pencil, and proceeded, with the greatest cun- 
ning, to disguise his face. The eyebrows he thick- 
ened and produced; to the moustache, which was 
yet hardly visible, he rendered a little service; while, 
by a few lines around the eye, he changed the ex- 
pression and increased the apparent age of this 
young monk. 


212 THE BLACK ARROW 


“ Now/’ he resumed, “ when I have done tlic 
like, we shall make as bonny a pair of friars as 
the eye could wish. Boldly to Sir Daniel’s we shall 
go, and there be hospitably welcome for the love 
of Mother Church.” 

“ And how, dear Lawless,” cried the lad, “ shall 
I repay you ? ” 

“ Tut, brother,” replied the outlaw, “ I do naught 
but for my pleasure. Mind not for me. I am one, 
by the mass, that mindeth for himself. When that 
I lack, I have a long tongue and a voice like the 
monastery bell — I do ask, my son ; and where 
asking faileth, I do most usually take.” 

The old rogue made a humourous grimace ; and 
although Dick was displeased to lie under so great 
favours to so equivocal a personage, he was yet 
unable to restrain his mirth. 

With that, Lawless returned to the big chest, and 
was soon similarly disguised ; but, below his gown, 
Dick wondered to observe him conceal a sheaf of 
black arrows. 

“ Wherefore do ye that ? ” asked the lad. 

Wherefore arrows, when ye take no bow ? ” 

“ Nay,” replied Lawless, lightly, “ ’t is like there 
will be heads broke — not to say backs — ere you 
and I win sound from where we ’re going to ; and 
if any fall, I would our fellowship should come 
by the credit on ’t. A black arrow. Master Dick, 
is the seal of our abbey ; it. showeth you who writ 
the bill.” 

“ An ye prepare so carefully,” said Dick, “ I 
have here some papers that, for mine own sake. 


THE BLACK ARROW 2rj 

and the interest of those that trusted me, were 
better left behind than found upon my body. 
Wliere shall I conceal them, Will ? ” 

“ Nay,” replied Lawless, “ I will go forth into 
the wood and whistle me three verses of a song; 
meanwhile, do you bury them where ye please, and 
smooth the sand upon the place.” 

“Never!” cried Richard. “I trust you, man. 
I were base indeed if I not trusted you.” 

“ Brother, y’ are but a child,” replied the old 
outlaw, pausing and turning his face upon Dick 
from the threshold of the den. “ I am a kind old 
Christian, and no traitor to men’s blood, and no 
sparer of mine own in a friend’s jeopardy. But, 
fool, child, I am a thief by trade and birth and 
habit. If my bottle were empty and my mouth 
dry, I would rob you, dear child, as sure as I love, 
honour, and admire your parts and person! Can 
it be clearer spoken? No.” 

And he stumped forth through the bushes with a 
snap of his big fingers. 

Dick, thus left alone, after a wondering thought 
upon the inconsistencies of his companion’s char- 
acter, hastily produced, reviewed, and buried his 
papers. One only he reserved to carry along with 
him, since it in nowise compromised his friends, 
and yet might serve him, in a pinch, against Sir 
Daniel. That was the knight’s own letter to Lord 
Wensleydale, sent by Throgmorton, on the mor- 
row of the defeat at Risingham, and found next 
day by Dick upon the body of the messenger. 

Then, treading down the embers of the fire, Dick 


214 the black arrow 

left the den, and rejoined the old outlaw, who stood 
awaiting him under the leafless oaks, and was al- 
ready beginning to be powdered by the falling snow. 
Each looked upon the other, and each laughed, so 
thorough and so droll was the disguise. 

“Yet I would it were but summer and a clear 
day,” grumbled the outlaw, “ that I might see my- 
self in the mirror of a pool. There be many of 
Sir Daniel’s men that know me; and if we fell 
to be recognised, there might be two words for 
you, brother, but as for me, in a paternoster while, 
I should be kicking in a rope’s-end.” 

Thus they set forth together along the road to 
Shoreby, which, in this part of its course, kept near 
along the margin of the forest, coming forth, from 
time to time, in the open country, and passing be- 
side poor folks’ houses and small farms. 

Presently at sight of one of these, Lawless 
pulled up. 

“ Brother Martin,” he said, in a voice, capitally 
disguised, and suited to his monkish robe, “ let us 
enter and seek alms from these poor sinners. Pax 
vobiscum! Ay,” he added, in his own voice, “ ’t is 
as I feared ; I have somewhat lost the whine of it ; 
and by your leave, good Master Shelton, ye must 
suffer me to practise in these country places, before 
that I risk my fat neck by entering Sir Daniel’s. 
But look ye a little, what an excellent thing it is to 
be a Jack-of-all-trades ! An I had not been a ship- 
man, ye had infallibly gone down in the Good 
Hope; an I had not been a thief, I could not have 
painted me your face; and but that I had been a 


THE BLACK ARROW 215 

Grey Friar, and sung loud in the choir, and ate 
hearty at the board, I could not have carried this 
disguise, but the very dogs would have spied us 
out and barked at us for shams.” 

He was by this time close to the window of the 
farm, and he rose on his tip-toes and peeped in. 

“ Nay,” he cried, “ better and better. We shall 
here try our false faces with a vengeance, and have 
a merry jest on Brother Capper to boot.” 

And so saying, he opened the door and led the 
way into the house. 

Three of their own company sat at the table, 
greedily eating. Their daggers, stuck beside them 
in the board, and the black and menacing looks 
which they continued to shower upon the people 
of the house, proved that they owed their enter- 
tainment rather to force than favour. On the two 
monks, who now, with a sort of humble dignity, 
entered the kitchen of the farm, they seemed to 
turn with a particular resentment ; and one — it 
was John Capper in person — who seemed to play 
the leading part, instantly and rudely ordered them 
away. 

“ We want no beggars here ! ” he cried. 

But another — although he was as far from 
recognising Dick and Lawless — inclined to more 
moderate counsels. 

“ Not so,” he cried. “ We be strong men, and 
take; these be weak, and crave; but in the latter 
end these shall be uppermost and we below. Mind 
him not, my father; but come, drink of my cup, 
and give me a benediction.” 


2i6 the black arrow 


“ Y’ are men of a light mind, carnal, and ac- 
cursed,” said the monk. “ Now, may the saints 
forbid that ever I should drink with such com- 
panions! But here, for the pity I bear to sinners, 
here I do leave you a blessed relic, the which, for 
your soul’s interest, I bid you kiss and cherish.” 

So far Lawless thundered upon them like a 
preaching friar; but with these words he drew 
from under his robe a black arrow, tossed it on 
the board in front of the three startled outlaws, 
turned in the same instant, and, taking Dick along 
with him, was out of the room and out of sight 
among the falling snow before they had time to 
utter a word or move a finger. 

“ So,” he said, “ we have proved our false faces. 
Master Shelton. I will now adventure my poor 
carcase where ye please.” 

“ Good ! ” returned Richard. “ It irks me to be 
doing. Set we on for Shoreby ! ” 


CHAPTER II 


*‘IN MINE ENEMIES’ HOUSE” 

S IR DANIEL’S residence in Shoreby was a 
tall, commodious, plastered mansion, framed 
in carven oak, and covered by a low-pitched 
roof of thatch. To the back there stretched a 
garden, full of fruit-trees, alleys, and thick arbours, 
and overlooked from the far end by the tower of 
the abbey church. 

The house might contain, upon a pinch, the 
retinue of a greater person than Sir Daniel; but 
even now it was filled with hubbub. The court 
rang with arms and horseshoe-iron; the kitchens 
roared with cookery like a bees’-hive; minstrels, 
and the players of instruments, and the cries of 
tumblers, sounded from the hall. Sir Daniel, in 
his profusion, in the gaiety and gallantry of his 
establishment, rivalled with Lord Shoreby, and 
eclipsed Lord Risingham. 

All guests were made welcome. Minstrels, tum- 
blers, players of chess, the sellers of relics, medi- 
cines, perfumes, and enchantments, and along with 
these every sort of priest, friar, or pilgrim, were 
made welcome to the lower table, and slept together 
in the ample lofts, or on the bare boards of the long 
dining-hall. 


2i8 the black arrow 


On the afternoon following the wreck of the 
Good Hope, the buttery, the kitchens, the stables, 
the covered cartshed that surrounded two sides of 
the court, were all crowded by idle people, partly 
belonging to Sir Daniel’s establishment, and attired 
in his livery of murrey and blue, partly nondescript 
strangers attracted to the town by greed, and re- 
ceived by the knight through policy, and because it 
was the fashion of the time. 

The snow, which still fell without interruption, 
the extreme chill of the air, and the approach of 
night, combined to keep them under shelter. Wine, 
ale, and money were all plentiful ; many sprawled 
gambling in the straw of the barn, many were still 
drunken from the noontide meal. To the eye of a 
modern it would have looked like the sack of a 
city ; to the eye of a contemporary it was like any 
other rich and noble household at a festive season. 

Two monks — a young and an old — had arrived 
late, and were now warming themselves at a bon-* 
fire in a corner of the shed. A mixed crowd 
surrounded them — jugglers, mountebanks, and 
soldiers ; and with these the elder of the two 
had soon engaged so brisk a conversation, and 
exchanged so many loud guffaws and country 
witticisms, that the group momentarily increased 
in number. 

The younger companion, in whom the reader 
has already recognised Dick Shelton, sat from the 
first somewhat backward, and gradually drew him- 
self away. He listened, indeed, closely, but he 
opened not his mouth; and by the grave expres- 


THE BLACK ARROW 219 

sion of his countenance, he made but little account 
of his companion’s pleasantries, 
j At last his eye, which travelled continually to 
I and fro, and kept a guard upon all the entrances 
of the house, lit upon a little procession entering 
by the main gate and crossing the court in an 
oblique direction. Two ladies, muffled in thick 
furs, led the way, and were followed by a pair 
of waiting-women and four stout men-at-arms. 
The next moment they had disappeared within 
the house; and Dick, slipping through the crowd 
of loiterers in the shed, was already giving hot 
pursuit. 

“ The taller of these twain was Lady Brackley,” 
he thought ; “ and where Lady Brackley is, Joan 
will not be far.” 

At the door of the house the four men-at-arms 
had ceased to follow, and the ladies were now 
mounting the stairway of polished oak, under no 
better escort than that of the two waiting-women. 
Dick followed close behind. It was already the 
dusk of the day; and in the house the darkness 
of the night had almost come. On the stair-land- 
ings, torches flared in iron holders ; down the long, 
tapestried corridors, a lamp burned by every door. 
And where the door stood open, Dick could look 
in upon arras-covered walls and rush-bescattered 
floors, glowing in the light of the wood fires. 

Two floors were passed, and at every landing 
the younger and shorter of the two ladies had 
looked back keenly at the monk. He, keeping his 
eyes lowered, and affecting the demure manners 


220 THE BLACK ARROW 


that suited his disguise, had but seen her once, and 
was unaware that he had attracted her attention. 
And now, on the third floor, the party separated, 
the younger lady continuing to ascend alone, the 
other, followed by the waiting-maids, descending 
the corridor to the right. 

Dick mounted with a swift foot, and holding to 
the corner, thrust forth his head and followed the 
three women with his eyes. Without turning or 
looking behind them, they continued to descend the 
corridor. 

“ It is right well,” thought Dick. “ Let me 
but know my Lady Brackley’s chamber, and it 
will go hard an I find not Dame Hatch upon an 
errand.” 

And just then a hand was laid upon his shoulder, 
and, with a bound and a choked cry, he turned to 
grapple his assailant. 

He was somewhat abashed to find, in the person 
whom he had so roughly seized, the short young 
lady in the furs. She, on her part, was shocked and 
terrified beyond expression, and hung trembling in 
his grasp. 

“ Madam,” said Dick, releasing her, “ I cry you 
a thousand pardons; but I have no eyes behind, 
and, by the mass, I could not tell ye were a maid.” 

The girl continued to look at him, but, by this 
time, terror began to be succeeded by surprise, and 
surprise by suspicion. Dick, who could read these 
changes on her face, became alarmed for his own 
safety in that hostile house. 

” Fair maid,” he said, affecting easiness, “ suffer 


THE BLACK ARROW 221 


me to kiss your hand, in token ye forgi\’e my 
roughness, and I will even go.” 

“ Y’ are a strange monk, young sir,” returned 
the young lady, looking him both boldly and 
shrewdly in the face; “and now that my first 
astonishment hath somewhat passed away, I can 
spy the layman in each word you utter. What do 
ye here? Why are ye thus sacrilegiously tricked 
out ? Come ye in peace or war ? And why spy ye 
after Lady Brackley like a thief?” 

“ Madam,” quoth Dick, “ of one thing I pray 
you to be very sure : I am no thief. And even if 
I come here in war, as in some degree I do, I make 
no war upon fair maids, and I hereby entreat them 
to copy me so far, and to leave me be. For, indeed, 
fair mistress, cry out — if such be your pleasure — 
cry but once, and say what ye have seen, and the 
poor gentleman before you is merely a dead man. 
I cannot think ye would be cruel,” added Dick ; 
and taking the girl’s hand gently in both of his, 
he looked at her with courteous admiration. 

“Are ye, then, a spy — a Yorkist?” asked the 
maid. 

“ Madam,” he replied, “ I am indeed a Yorkist, 
and, in some sort, a spy. But that which bringeth 
me into this house, the same which will win for me 
the pity and interest of your kind heart, is neither 
of York nor Lancaster. I will wholly put my 
life in your discretion. I am a lover, and my 
name ” 

But here the young lady clapped her hand sud- 
denly upon Dick’s mouth, looked hastily up and 


222 THE BLACK ARROW 


down and east and west, and, seeing the coast clear, 
began to drag the young man, with great strength 
and vehemence, up-stairs. 

“ Hush ! ” she said, “ and come ! Shalt talk 
hereafter.” 

Somewhat bewildered, Dick suffered himself to 
be pulled up-stairs, bustled along a corridor, and 
thrust suddenly into a chamber, lit, like so many of 
the others, by a blazing log upon the hearth. 

“ Now,” said the young lady, forcing him down 
upon a stool, “ sit ye there and attend my sovereign 
good pleasure. I have life and death over you, and 
I will not scruple to abuse my power. Look to 
yourself; y’ ’ave cruelly mauled my arm. He 
knew not I was a maid, quoth he ! Had he 
known I was a maid, he had ta’en his belt to me, 
forsooth ! ” 

And with these words, she whipped out of the 
room and left Dick gaping with wonder, and not 
very sure if he were dreaming or awake. 

“ Ta’en my belt to her! ” he repeated. “ Ta’en 
my belt to her!” And the recollection of that 
evening in the forest flowed back upon his mind, 
and he once more saw Matcham’s wincing body 
and beseeching eyes. 

And then he was recalled to the dangers of the 
present. In the next room he heard a stir, as of 
a person moving; then followed a sigh, which 
sounded strangely near ; and then the rustle of 
skirts and tap of feet once more began. As he 
stood hearkening, he saw the arras wave along the 
wall ; there was the sound of a door being opened, 


THE BLACK ARROW 223 

the hangings divided, and, lamp in hand, Joanna 
Sedley entered the apartment. 

She was attired in costly stuffs of deep and 
warm colours, such as befit the winter and the 
snow. Upon her head, her hair had been gathered 
together and became her as a crown. And she, 
who had seemed so little and so awkward in the 
attire of Matcham, was now tall like a young 
willow, and. swam across the floor as though she 
scorned the drudgery of walking. 

Without a start, without a tremor, she raised 
her lamp and looked at the young monk. 

“What make ye here, good brother?” she i«i- 
quired. “ Ye are doubtless ill-directed. Whom 
do ye require ? ” And she set her lamp upon the 
bracket. 

“ Joanna,” said Dick ; and then his voice failed 
him. “ Joanna,” he began again, “ ye said ye 
loved me ; and the more fool I, but I believed it ! ” 

“ Dick ! ” she cried. “ Dick ! ” 

And then, to the wonder of the lad, this beautiful 
and tall young lady made but one step of it, and 
threw her arms about his neck and gave him a hun- 
dred kisses all in one. 

“ Oh, the fool fellow ! ” she cried. “ Oh, dear 
Dick! Oh, if ye could see yourself! Alack! ” she 
added, pausing. “ I have spoilt you, Dick ! I have 
knocked some of ’the paint off. But that can be 
mended. What cannot be mended, Dick — or I 
much fear it cannot ! — is my marriage with Lord 
Shoreby.” 

“ Is it decided, then ? ” asked the lad. 


224 the black arrow 

“To-morrow, before noon, Dick, in the abbey' 
church,” she answered, “John Matcham and Jo-ii 
anna Sedley both shall come to a right miserable 
end. There is no help in tears, or I could weep 
mine eyes out, I have not spared myself to pray, 
but Heaven frowns on my petition. And, dear 
Dick — good Dick — but that ye can get me forth 
of this house before the morning, we must even 
kiss and say good-bye.” • | 

“ Nay,” said Dick, “ not I ; I will never say that 
word. ’T is like despair ; but while there ’s life, * 
Joanna, there is hope. Yet will I hope. Ay, by j 
the mass, and triumph ! Look ye, now, when ye 
were but a name to me, did I not follow — did I 
not rouse good men — did I not stake my life upon 
the quarrel? And now that I have seen you for 
what ye are — the fairest maid and stateliest of 
England — think ye I would turn ? — if the deep 
sea were there, I would straight through it ; if the 
way were full of lions, I would scatter them like 
mice.” 

“ Ay,” she said, drily, “ ye make a great ado 
about a sky-blue robe ! ” 

“ Nay, Joan,” protested Dick, “ ’t is not alone 
the robe. But, lass, ye were disguised. Here am 
I disguised; and, to the proof, do I not cut a 
figure of fun — a right fool’s figure?” 

“ Ay, Dick, an’ that ye do ! ” she answered, 
smiling, 

“Well, then!” he returned, triumphant. “So 
was it with you, poor Matcham, in the forest. In 
sooth, ye were a wench to laugh at. But now ! ” 


THE BLACK ARROW 225 

So they ran on, holding each other by both 
hands, exchanging smiles and lovely looks, and 
melting minutes into seconds; and so they might 
have continued all night long. But presently there 
was a noise behind them; and they were aware 
of the short young lady, with her finger on her 
lips. 

“ Saints ! ” she cried, “ but what a noise ye 
keep! Can ye not speak in compass? And now, 
Joanna, my fair maid of the woods, what will 
ye give your gossip for bringing you your sweet- 
heart?” 

Joanna ran to her, by way of answer, and em- 
braced her fierily. 

“ And you, sir,” added the young lady, “ what 
do ye give me ? ” 

“ Madam,” said Dick, “ I would fain offer to 
pay you in the same money.” 

“ Come, then,” said the lady, “ it is permitted 
you.” 

But Dick, blushing like a peony, only kissed her 
hand. 

“What ails ye at my face, fair sir?” she in- 
quired, curtseying to the very ground ; and then, 
when Dick had at length and most tepidly em- 
braced her, “ Joanna,” she added, “ your sweet- 
heart is very backward under your eyes; but I 
warrant you, when first we met, he was more 
ready. I am all black and blue, wench ; trust me 
never, if I be not black and blue! And now,” she 
continued, “ have ye said your sayings? for I must 
speedily dismiss the paladin.” 

IS 


226 THE BLACK ARROW 


But at this they both cried out that they had said 
nothing, that the night was still very young, and 
that they would not be separated so early. 

“ And supper? ” asked the young lady. “ Must 
we not go down to supper ? ” 

“Nay, to be sure!” cried Joan. “I had for- 
gotten.” 

“ Hide me, then,” said Dick, “ put me behind 
the arras, shut me in a chest, or what ye will, so 
that I may be here on your return. Indeed, fair 
lady,” he added, “ bear this in mind, that we are 
sore bested, and may never look upon each other’s 
face from this night forward till we die.” 

At this the young lady melted ; and when, a 
little after, the bell summoned Sir Daniel’s house- 
hold to the board, Dick was planted very stiffly 
against the wall, at a place where a division in the 
tapestry permitted him to breathe the more freely, 
and even to see into the room. 

He had not been long in this position, when he 
was somewhat strangely disturbed. The silence, 
in that upper storey of the house, was only broken 
by the flickering of the flames and the hissing of 
a green log in the chimney ; but presently, to Dick’s 
strained hearing, there came the sound of some one 
walking with extreme precaution ; and soon after 
the door opened, and a little black-faced, dwarfish 
fellow, in Lord Shoreby’s colours, pushed first his 
head, and then his crooked body, into the chamber. 
His mouth was open, as though to hear the better ; 
and his eyes, which were very bright, flitted rest- 
lessly and swiftly to and fro. He went round and 


THE BLACK ARROW 227 

round the room, striking here and there upon the 
hangings ; but Dick, by a miracle, escaped his 
notice. Then he looked below the furniture, and 
examined the lamp; and, at last, with an air of 
cruel disappointment, was preparing to go away 
as silently as he had come, when down he dropped 
upon his knees, picked up something from among 
the rushes on the floor, examined it, and, with 
every signal of delight, concealed it in the wallet 
at his belt, 

Dick’s heart sank, for the object in question was 
a tassel from his own girdle; and it was plain to 
him that this dwarfish spy, who took a malign 
delight in his employment, would lose no time in 
bearing it to his master, the baron. He was half 
tempted to throw aside the arras, fall upon the 
scoundrel, and, at the risk of his life, remove the 
telltale token. And while he was still hesitating, 
a new cause of concern was added. A voice, 
hoarse and broken by drink, began to be audible 
from the stair; and presently after, uneven, wan- 
dering, and heavy footsteps sounded without along 
the passage. 

“ What make ye here, my merry men, among the 
greenwood shaws ? ” sang the voice. “ What make 
ye here? Hey! sots, what make ye here?” it 
added, with a rattle of drunken laughter ; and then, 
once more breaking into song: 

“ If ye should drink the clary wine, 

Fat Friar John, ye friend o’ mine — 

If I should eat, and ye should drink, 

Who shall sing the mass, d’ye think?” 


228 THE BLACK ARROW 


Lawless, alas! rolling drunk, was wandering 
the house, seeeking for a corner wherein to slumber 
off the effect of his potations. Dick inwardly 
raged. The spy, at first terrified, had grown re- 
assured as he found he had to deal with an intoxi- 
cated man, and now, with a movement of cat-like 
rapidity, slipped from the chamber, and was gone 
from Richard’s eyes. 

What was to be done? If he lost touch of Law- 
less for the night, he was left impotent, whether 
to plan or carry forth Joanna’s rescue. If, on the 
other hand, he dared to address the drunken out- 
law, the spy might still be lingering within sight, 
and the most fatal consequences ensue. 

It was, nevertheless, upon this last hazard that 
Dick decided. Slipping from behind the tapestry, 
he stood ready in the doorway of the chamber, with 
a warning hand upraised. Lawless, flushed crim- 
son, with his eyes injected, vacillating on his feet, 
drew still unsteadily nearer. At last he hazily 
caught sight of his commander, and, in despite of ' 
Dick’s imperious signals, hailed him instantly and 
loudly by his name. 

Dick leaped upon and shook the drunkard 
furiously. 

“ Beast ! ” he hissed — “ beast and no man I It 
is worse than treachery to be so witless. We may 
all be shent for thy sotting.” 

But Lawless only laughed and staggered, and 
tried to clap young Shelton on the back. 

And just then Dick’s quick ear caught a rapid 
brushing in the arras. He leaped towards the 


THE BLACK ARROW 229 

sound, and the next moment a piece of the wall- 
hanging had been torn down, and Dick and the spy 
were sprawling together in its folds. Over and 
over they rolled, grappling for each other’s throat, 
and still baffled by the arras, and still silent in their 
deadly fury. But Dick was by much the stronger, 
and soon the spy lay prostrate under his knee, and, 
with a single stroke of the long poniard, ceased to 
breathe. 


CHAPTER III 

THE DEAD SPY 


T hroughout this furious and rapid 
passage, Lawless had looked on help- 
lessly, and even when all was over, and 
Dick, already re-arisen to his feet, was listening 
with the most passionate attention to the distant 
bustle in the lower storeys of the house, the old out- 
law was still wavering on his legs like a shrub in a 
breeze of wind, and still stupidly staring on the 
face of the dead man. 

“ It is well,” said Dick, at length ; “ they have 
not heard us, praise the saints! But, now, what 
shall I do with this poor spy ? At least, I will take 
my tassel from his wallet.” 

So saying, Dick opened the wallet; within he 
found a few pieces of money, the tassel, and a letter 
addressed to Lord Wensleydale, and sealed with 
my Lord Shoreby’s seal. The name awoke Dick’s 
recollection ; and he instantly broke the wax and 
read the contents of the letter. It was short, but, 
to Dick’s delight, it gave evident proof that Lord 
Shoreby was treacherously corresponding with the 
House of York. 

The young fellow usually carried his ink-horn 
and implements about him, and so now, bending a 


THE BLACK ARROW 231 

knee beside the body of the dead spy, he was able 
to write these words upon a corner of the paper: 

My Lord of Shoreby, ye that writt the letter, wot ye why 
your man is ded ? But let me rede you, marry not. 

Jon Amend- All. 

He laid this paper on the breast of the corpse; 
and then Lawless, who had been looking on upon 
these last manoeuvres with some flickering returns 
of intelligence, suddenly drew a black arrow from 
below his robe, and therewith pinned the paper in 
its place. The sight of this disrespect, or, as it 
almost seemed, cruelty to the dead, drew a cry of 
horror from young Shelton; but the old outlaw 
only laughed. 

“ Nay, I will have the credit for mine order,” he 
hiccupped. “ My jolly boys must have the credit 
on ’t — the credit, brother ” ; and then, shutting his 
eyes tight and opening his mouth like a precentor, 
he began to thunder, in a formidable voice : 

“ If ye should drink the clary wine ” — 

“ Peace, sot ! ” cried Dick, and thrust him hard 
against the wall. “ In two words — if so be that 
such a man can understand me who hath more wine 
than wit in him — in two words, and, a-Mary’s 
name, begone out of this house, where, if ye con- 
tinue to abide, ye will not only hang yourself, but 
me also ! Faith, then, up foot ! be yare, or, by the 
mass, I may forget that I am in some sort your 
captain and in some your debtor ! Go ! ” 


232 THE BLACK ARROW 

The sham monk was now, in some degree, re- 
covering the use of his intelligence; and the ring 
in Dick’s voice, and the glitter in Dick’s eye, 
stamped home the meaning of his words. 

“ By the mass,” cried Lawless, “ an I be not 
wanted, I can go ” ; and he turned tipsily along the 
corridor and proceeded to flounder down-stairs, 
lurching against the wall. 

So soon as he was out of sight, Dick returned 
to his hiding-place, resolutely fixed to see the 
matter out. Wisdom, indeed, moved him to be 
gone; but love and curiosity were stronger. 

Time passed slowly for the young man, bolt up- 
right behind the arras. The fire in the room began 
to die down, and the lamp to burn low and to 
smoke. And still there was no word of the return 
of any one to these upper quarters of the house; 
still the faint hum and clatter of the supper party 
sounded from far below ; and still, under the thick 
fall of the snow, Shoreby town lay silent upon 
every side. 

At length, however, feet and voices began to 
draw near upon the stair ; and presently after sev- 
eral of Sir Daniel’s guests arrived upon the land- 
ing, and, turning down the corridor, beheld the 
torn arras and the body of the spy. 

Some ran forward and some back, and all to- 
gether began to cry aloud. 

At the sound of their cries, guests, men-at-arms, 
ladies, servants, and, in a word, all the inhabitants 
of that great house, came flying from every direc- 
tion, and began to join their voices to the tumult. 


THE BLACK ARROW 233 

Soon a way was cleared, and Sir Daniel came 
forth in person, followed by the bridegroom of the 
morrow, my Lord Shoreby. 

“ My lord,” said Sir Daniel, “ have I not told 
you of this knave Black Arrow? To the proof, 
behold it! There it stands, and, by the rood, my 
gossip, in a man of yours, or one that stole your 
colours ! ” 

“ In good sooth, it was a man of mine,” replied 
Lord Shoreby, hanging back. “ I would I had 
more such. He was keen as a beagle and secret 
as a mole.” 

“ Ay, gossip, truly ? ” asked Sir Daniel, keenly. 
“ And what came he smelling up so many stairs in 
my poor mansion? But he will smell no more.” 

“ An ’t please you. Sir Daniel,” said one, “ here 
is a paper written upon with some matter, pinned 
upon his breast.” 

“ Give it me, arrow and all,” said the knight. 
And when he had taken into his hand the shaft, 
he continued for some time to gaze upon it in a 
sullen musing. “ Ay,” he said, addressing Lord 
Shoreby, “ here is a hate that followeth hard and 
close upon my heels. This black stick, or its just 
likeness, shall yet bring me down. And, gossip, 
suffer a plain knight to counsel you; and if these 
hounds begin to wind you, flee I ’T is like a sick- 
ness — it strll hangeth, hangeth upon the limbs. 
But let us see what they have written. It is as I 
thought, my lord ; y’ are marked, like an old oak, 
by the woodman ; tomorrow or next day, by will 
come the axe. But what wrote ye in a letter ? ” 


234 THE BLACK ARROW 

Lord Shoreby snatched the paper from the arrow, 
read it, crumpled it between his hands, and, over- 
coming the reluctance which had hitherto with- 
held him from approaching, threw himself on his 
knees beside the body and eagerly groped in the 
wallet. 

He rose to his feet with a somewhat unsettled 
countenance. 

“ Gossip,” he said, “ I have indeed lost a letter 
here that much imported ; and could I lay my hand 
upon the knave that took it, he should incontinently 
grace a halter. But let us, first of all, secure the 
issues of the house. Here is enough harm already, 
by St. George ! ” 

Sentinels were posted close around the house 
and garden; a sentinel on every landing of the 
stair, a whole troop in the main entrance-hall ; and 
yet another about the bonfire in the shed. Sir 
Daniel’s followers were supplemented by Lord 
Shoreby’s ; there was thus no lack of men or 
weapons to make the house secure, or to entrap a 
lurking enemy, should one be there. 

Meanwhile, the body of the spy was carried out 
through the falling snow and deposited in the 
abbey church. 

It was not until these dispositions had been taken, 
and all had returned to a decorous silence, that the 
two girls drew Richard Shelton from his place of 
concealment, and made a full report to him of what 
had passed. He, upon his side, recounted the visit 
of the spy, his dangerous discovery, and speedy 
end. 


THE BLACK ARROW 235 

Joanna leaned back very faint against the cur- 
tained wall. 

“ It will avail but little,” she said. “ I shall be 
wed to-morrow, in the morning, after all ! ” 

“ What ! ” cried her friend. “ And here is our 
paladin that driveth lions like mice! Ye have little 
faith, of a surety. But come, friend lion-driver, 
give us some comfort ; speak, and let us hear bold 
counsels.” 

Dick was confounded to be thus outfaced with 
his own exaggerated words; but though he col- 
oured, he still spoke stoutly. 

“ Truly,” said he, “ we are in straits. Yet, 
could I but win out of this house for half an 
hour, I do honestly tell myself that all might 
still go well ; and for the marriage, it should be 
prevented.” 

“ And for the lions,” mimicked the girl, “ they 
shall be driven.” 

“ I crave your excuse,” said Dick. “ I speak not 
now in any boasting humour, but rather as one 
inquiring after help or counsel; for if I get not 
forth of this house and through these sentinels, I 
can do less than naught. Take me, I pray you, 
rightly.” 

“Why said ye he was rustic, Joan?” the girl 
inquired. “ I warrant he hath a tongue in his 
head ; ready, soft, and bold is his speech at pleas- 
ure. What would ye more ? ” 

“ Nay,” sighed Joanna, with a smile, “ they have 
changed me my friend Dick, ’t is sure enough. 
When I beheld him, he was rough indeed. But it 


236 THE BLACK ARROW 

matters little; there is no help for my hard case, 
and I must still be Lady Shoreby ! ” 

“ Nay, then,” said Dick, “ I will even make the 
adventure. A friar is not much regarded; and if 
I found a good fairy to lead me up, I may find 
another belike to carry me down. How call they 
the name of this spy? ” 

“ Rutter,” said the young lady; “and an excel- 
lent good name to call him by. But how mean ye, 
lion-driver? What is in your mind to do?” 

“To offer boldly to go forth,” returned Dick; 
“ and if any stop me, to keep an unchanged coun- 
tenance, and say I go to pray for Rutter. They 
will be praying over his poor clay even now.” 

“ The device is somewhat simple,” replied the 
girl, “ yet it may hold.” 

“ Nay,” said young Shelton, “ it is no device, but 
mere boldness, which serveth often better in great 
straits.” 

“ Ye say true,” she said. “ Well, go, a-Mary’s 
name, and may Heaven speed you! Ye leave here 
a poor maid that loves you entirely, and another 
that is most heartily your friend. Be wary, for 
their sakes, and make not shipwreck of your 
safety.” • 

“Ay,” added Joanna, “go, Dick. Ye run no 
more peril, whether ye go or stay. Go; ye take 
my heart with you ; the saints defend you I ” 

Dick passed the first sentry with so assured a 
countenance that the fellow merely fidgeted and 
stared ; but at the second landing the man carried 
his spear across and bade him name his business. 


THE BLACK ARROW 237 

“ Pax vobiscum/’ answered Dick. “ I go to pray 
over the body of this poor Rutter.” 

“Like enough,” returned the sentry; “but to 
go alone is not permitted you.” He leaned over 
the oaken balusters and whistled shrill. “ One 
cometh ! ” he cried ; and then motioned Dick to 
pass. 

At the foot of the stair he found the guard afoot 
and awaiting his arrival; and when he had once 
more repeated his story, the commander of the post 
ordered four men out to accompany him to the 
church. 

“ Let him not slip, my lads,” he said. “ Bring 
him to Sir Oliver, on your lives ! ” 

The door was then opened; one of the men 
took Dick by either arm, another marched ahead 
with a link, and the fourth, with bent bow and 
the arrow on the string, brought up the rear. In 
this order they proceeded through the garden, under 
the thick darkness of the night and the scattering 
snow, and drew near to the dimly-illuminated win- 
dows of the abbey church. 

At the western portal a picket of archers stood, 
taking what shelter they could find in the hollow 
of the arched doorways, and all powdered with the 
snow; and it was not until Dick’s conductors had 
exchanged a word with these, that they were suf- 
fered to pass forth and enter the nave of the sacred 
edifice. 

The church was doubtfully lighted by the tapers 
upon the great altar, and by a lamp or two that 
swung from the arched roof before the private 


238 THE BLACK ARROW 

chapels of illustrious families. In the midst of the 
choir the dead spy lay, his limbs piously composed, 
upon a bier. 

A hurried mutter of prayer sounded along the 
arches; cowled figures knelt in the stalls of the 
choir, and on the steps of the high altar a priest in 
pontifical vestments celebrated mass. 

Upon this fresh entrance, one of the cowled 
figures arose, and, coming down the steps which 
elevated the level of the choir above that of the 
nave, demanded from the leader of the four men 
what business brought him ‘to the church. Out of 
respect for the service and the dead, they spoke in 
guarded tones ; but the echoes of that huge, empty 
building caught up their words, and hollowly re- 
peated and repeated them along the aisles. 

“ A monk! ” returned Sir Oliver (for he it was), 
when he had heard the report of the archer. “ Aly 
brother, I looked not for your coming,” he added, 
turning to young Shelton. “ In all civility, who 
are ye? and at whose instance do ye join your 
supplications to ours?” 

Dick, keeping his cowl about his face, signed to 
Sir Oliver to move a pace or two aside from the 
archers; and, so soon as the priest had done so, 
“ I cannot hope to deceive you, sir,” he said. “ My 
life is in your hands.” 

Sir Oliver violently started; his stout cheeks 
grew pale, and for a space he was silent. 

“ Richard,” he said, “ what brings you here, I 
know not; but I much misdoubt it to be evil. 
Nevertheless, for the kindness that was, I would 


THE BLACK ARROW 239 

not willingly deliver you to harm. Ye shall sit 
all night beside me in the stalls : ye shall sit there 
till my Lord of Shoreby be married, and the party 
gone safe home ; and if all goeth well, and ye have 
planned no evil, in the end ye shall go whither ye 
will. But if your purpose be bloody, it shall return 
upon your head. Amen ! ” 

And the priest devoutly crossed himself, and 
turned and louted to the altar. 

With that, he spoke a few words more to the 
soldiers, and taking Dick by the hand, led him up 
to the choir, and placed him in the stall beside his 
own, where, for mere decency, the lad had instantly 
to kneel and appear to be busy with his devotions. 

His mind and his eyes, however, were continu- 
ally wandering. Three of the soldiers, he observed, 
instead of returning to the house, had got them 
quietly into a point of vantage in the aisle ; and he 
could not doubt that they had done so by Sir 
Oliver’s command. Here, then, he was trapped. 
Here he must spend the night in the ghostly glim- 
mer and shadow of the church, and looking on the 
pale face of him he slew; and here, in the morn- 
ing, he must see his sweetheart married to another 
man before his eyes. 

But, for all that, he obtained a command upon 
his mind, and built himself up in patience to await 
the issue. 


CHAPTER IV 


IN THE ABBEY CHURCH 

I N Shoreby Abbey Church the prayers were 
kept up all night without cessation, now with 
the singing of psalms, now with a note or two 
upon the bell. 

Rutter, the spy, was nobly waked. There he lay, 
meanwhile, as they had arranged him, his dead 
hands crossed upon his bosom, his dead eyes star- 
ing on the roof ; and hard by, in the stall, the lad 
who had slain him waited, in sore disquietude, the 
coming of the morning. 

Once only, in the course of the hours. Sir Oliver 
leaned across to his captive. 

“ Richard,” he whispered, “ my son, if ye mean 
me evil, I will certify, on my soul’s welfare, ye 
design upon an innocent man. Sinful in the eye of 
Heaven I do declare myself ; but sinful as against 
you I am not, neither have been ever.” 

“ My father,” returned Dick, in the same tone 
of voice, “ trust me, I design nothing ; but as for 
your innocence, I may not forget that ye cleared 
yourself but lamely.” 

“ A man may be innocently guilty,” replied the 
priest. “ He may be set blindfolded upon a mis- 
sion, ignorant of its true scope. So it was with 


THE BLACK ARROW 241 

me. I did decoy your father to his death; but as 
Heaven sees us in this sacred place, I knew not 
what I did.” 

“ It may be,” returned Dick. “ But see what a 
strange web ye have woven, that I should be, at 
this hour, at Once your prisoner and your judge; 
that ye should both threaten my days and deprecate 
my anger. Methinks, if ye had been all your life 
a true man and good priest, ye would neither thus 
fear nor thus detest me. And now to your prayers. 
I do obey you, since needs must ; but I will not be 
burthened with your company.” 

The priest uttered a sigh so heavy that it had al- 
most touched the lad into some sentiment of pity, 
and he bowed his head upon his hands like a man 
borne down below a weight of care. He joined 
no longer in the psalms; but Dick could hear the 
beads rattle through his fingers and the prayers 
a-pattering between his teeth. 

Yet a little, and the grey of the morning began 
to struggle through the painted casements of the 
church, and to put to shame the glimmer of the 
tapers. The light slowly broadened and bright- 
ened, and presently through the south-eastern clere- 
stories a flush of rosy sunlight flickered on the 
walls. The storm was over; the great clouds had 
disburthened their snow and fled farther on, and 
the new day was breaking on a merry winter land- 
scape sheathed in white. 

A bustle of church officers followed; the bier 
was carried forth to the deadhouse, and the stains 
of blood were cleansed from off the tiles, that no 

16 


242 THE BLACK ARROW 

such ill-omened spectacle should disgrace the mar- 
riage of Lord Shoreby. At the same time, the very 
ecclesiastics who had been so dismally engaged all 
night began to put on morning faces, to do honour 
to the merrier ceremony which was about to follow. 
And further to announce the coming of the day, 
the pious of the town began to assemble and fall to 
prayer before their favourite shrines, or wait their 
turn at the confessionals. 

Favoured by this stir, it was of course easily 
possible for any man to avoid the vigilance of Sir 
Daniel’s sentries at the door; and presently Dick, 
looking about him wearily, caught the eye of no 
less a person than Will Lawless, still in his monk’s 
habit. 

The outlaw, at the same moment, recognised his 
leader, and privily signed to him with hand and 
eye. 

Now, Dick was far from having forgiven the old 
rogue his most untimely drunkenness, but he hadi 
no desire to involve him in his own predicament; 
and he signalled back to him, as plain as he was 
able, to begone. 

Lawless, as though he had understood, disap- 
peared at once behind a pillar, and Dick breathed 
again. 

1 What, then, was his dismay to feel himself 
plucked by the sleeve and to find the old robber 
installed beside him, upon the next seat, and, to all 
appearance, plunged in his devotions! 

Instantly Sir Oliver arose from his place, and. 
gliding behind the stalls, made for the soldiers in 

/ 


THE BLACK ARROW 243 

the aisle. If the priest’s suspicions had been so 
lightly wakened, the harm was already done, and 
Lawless a prisoner in the church. 

“ Move not,” whispered Dick. “ We are in the 
plaguiest pass, thanks, before all things, to thy 
swinishness of yestereven. When ye saw me here, 
so strangely seated where I have neither right nor 
interest, what a murrain ! could ye not smell harm 
and get ye gone from evil ? ” 

“ Nay,” returned Lawless, “ I thought ye had 
heard from Ellis, and were here on duty.” 

“ Ellis ! ” echoed Dick. “ Is Ellis, then, re- 
turned ? ” 

For sure,” replied the outlaw. “ He came last 
night, and belted me sore for being in wine — so 
there ye are avenged, my master. A furious man 
is Ellis Duckworth ! He hath ridden me hot-spur 
from Craven to prevent this marriage ; and. Master 
Dick, ye know the way of him — do so he will ! ” 

“ Nay, then,” returned Dick, with composure, 
“ you and I, my poor brother, are dead men; for 
I sit here a prisoner upon suspicion, and my neck 
was to answer for this very marriage that he pur- 
poseth to mar. I had a fair choice, by the rood ! to 
lose my sweetheart or else lose my life! Well, 
the cast is thrown — it is to be my life.” 

“ By the mass,” cried Lawless, half arising, “ I 
am gone 1 ” 

But Dick had his hand at once upon his shoulder. 

“ Friend Lawless, sit ye still,” he said. “ An 
ye have eyes, look yonder at the corner by the 
chancel arch ; see ye not that, even upon the motion 


244 the black arrow 

of your rising, yon armed men are up and ready to 
intercept you? Yield ye, friend. Ye were bold 
aboard ship, when ye thought to die a sea-death; 
be bold again, now that y’ are to die presently upon 
the gallows.” 

“ Master Dick,” gasped Lawless, “ the thing 
hath come upon me somewhat of the suddenest. 
But give me a moment till I fetch my breath again ; 
and, by the mass, I will be as stout-hearted as 
yourself.” 

“ Here is my bold fellow ! ” returned Dick. 

And yet. Lawless, it goes hard against the grain 
with me to die ; but where whining mendeth noth- 
ing, wherefore whine? ” 

“Nay, that indeed!” chimed Lawless. “And 
a fig for death, at worst! It has to be done, my 
master, soon or late. And hanging in a good 
quarrel is an easy death, they say, though I could 
never hear of any that came back to say so.” 

And so saying, the stout old rascal leaned back 
in his stall, folded his arms, and began to look 
about him with the greatest air of insolence and 
unconcern. 

“ And for the matter of that,” Dick added, “ it 
is yet our best chance to keep quiet. We wot not 
yet what Duckworth purposes; and when all is 
said, and if the worst befall, we may yet clear our 
feet of it.” 

Now that they ceased talking, they were aware 
of a very distant and thin strain of mirthful music 
which steadily drew nearer, louder, and merrier. 
The bells in the tower began to break forth into a 


THE BLACK ARROW 245 

doubling peal, and a greater and greater concourse 
of people to crowd into the church, shuffling the 
snow from off their feet, and clapping and blowing 
in their hands. The western door was flung wide 
open, showing a glimpse of sunlit, snowy street, 
and admitting in a great gust the shrewd air of 
the morning; and in short, it became plain by 
every sign that Lord Shoreby desired to be married 
very early in the day, and that the wedding-train 
was drawing near. 

Some of Lord Shoreby’ s men now cleared a pas- 
sage down the middle aisle, forcing the people back 
with lance-stocks; and just then, outside the por- 
tal, the secular musicians could be descried drawing 
near over the frozen snow, the fifers and trum- 
peters scarlet in the face with lusty blowing, the 
drummers and the cymbalists beating as for a 
wager. 

These, as they drew near the door of the sacred 
building, filed off on either side, and, marking time 
to their own vigorous music, stood stamping in the 
snow. As they thus opened their ranks, the leaders 
of this noble bridal train appeared behind and be- 
tween them; and such was the variety and gaiety 
of their attire, such the display of silks and velvet, 
fur and satin, embroidery and lace, that the pro- 
cession showed forth upon the snow like a flower- 
bed in a path or a painted window in a wall. 

First came the bride, a sorry sight, as pale as 
winter, clinging to Sir Daniel’s arm, and attended, 
as bridesmaid, by the short young lady who had 
befriended Dick the night before. Close behind, 


246 THE BLACK ARROW 

in the most radiant toilet, followed the bridegroom, 
' halting on a gouty foot ; and as he passed the 
threshold of the sacred building and doffed his hat. 
his bald head was seen to be rosy with emotion. 

And now came the hour of Ellis Duckworth. 

Dick, who sat stunned among contrary emotions, 
grasping the desk in front of him, beheld a move- 
ment in the crowd, people jostling backward, and 
eyes and arms uplifted. Following these signs, he 
beheld three or four men with bent bows leaning 
from the clerestory gallery. At the same instant 
they delivered their discharge, and before the 
clamour and cries of the astounded populace had 
time to swell fully upon the ear, they had flitted 
from their perch and disappeared. 

The nave was full of swaying heads and voices 
screaming ; the ecclesiastics thronged in terror 
from their places; the music ceased, and though 
the bells overhead continued for some seconds to 
clang upon the air, some wind of the disaster 
seemed to find its way at last even to the chamber 
where the ringers were leaping on their ropes, and 
they also desisted from their merry labours. 

Right in the midst of the nave the bridegroom 
lay stone-dead, pierced by two black arrows. The 
bride had fainted. Sir Daniel stood, towering 
above the crowd in his surprise and anger, a cloth- 
yard shaft quivering in his left forearm, and his 
face streaming blood from another which had 
grazed his brow. 

Long before any search could be made for them, 
the authors of this tragic interruption had clattered 


THE BLACK ARROW 247 

I down a turnpike stair and decamped by a postern 
door. 

But Dick and Lawless still remained in pawn; 
' they had, indeed, arisen on the first alarm, and 
pushed manfully to gain the door; but what with 
the narrowness of the stalls and the crowding of 
terrified priests and choristers, the attempt had 
been in vain, and they had stoically resumed their 
' places. 

And now, pale with horror. Sir Oliver rose to 
his feet and called upon Sir Daniel, pointing with 
one hand to Dick. 

“ Here,” he cried, “ is Richard Shelton — alas 
the hour ! — blood guilty ! Seize him ! — bid him 
be seized! For all our lives’ sakes, take him and 
bind him surely! He hath sworn our fall.” 

Sir Daniel was blinded by anger — blinded by 
the hot blood that still streamed across his face. 

“Where?” he bellowed. “Hale him forth! 
By the cross of Holywood, but he shall rue this 
hour! ” 

The crowd fell back, and a party of archers in- 
vaded the choir, laid rough hands on Dick, dragged 
him head-foremost from the stall, and thrust him 
by the shoulders down the chancel steps. Lawless, 
on his part, sat as still as a mouse. 

Sir Daniel, brushing the blood out of his eyes, 
stared blinkingly upon his captive. 

“ Ay,” he said, “ treacherous and insolent, I have 
thee fast; and by all potent oaths, for every drop 
of blood that now trickles in mine eyes, I will 
wring a groan out of thy carcase. Away with 


248 THE BLACK ARROW 

him ! ” he added. “ Here is no place ! Of¥ with 
him to my house. I will number every joint of 
thy body with a torture.” 

But Dick, putting off his captors, uplifted his 
voice. 

“Sanctuary!” he shouted. “Sanctuary! Ho, 
there, my fathers ! They would drag me from the 
church ! ” 

“ From the church thou hast defiled with 
murder, boy,” added a tall man, magnificently 
dressed. 

“ On what probation ? ” cried Dick. “ They do 
accuse me, indeed, of some complicity, but have 
not proved one tittle. I was, in truth, a suitor for 
this damsel’s hand; and she, I will be bold to say 
it, repaid my suit with favour. But what then? 
To love a maid is no offence, I trow — nay, nor to 
gain her love. In all else, I stand here free from 
guiltiness.” 

There was a murmur of approval among the by- 
standers, so boldly Dick declared his innocence; 
but at the same time a throng of accusers arose 
upon the other side, crying how he had been found 
last night in Sir Daniel’s house, how he wore a sac- 
rilegious disguise; and in the midst of the babel. 
Sir Oliver indicated Lawless, both by voice and 
gesture, as accomplice to the fact. He, in his turn, 
was dragged from his seat and set beside his 
leader. The feelings of the crowd rose high on 
either side, and while some dragged the prisoners 
to and fro to favour their escape, others cursed and 
struck them with their fists. Dick’s ears rang and 


THE BLACK ARROW 249 

his brain swam dizzily, like a man struggling in 
the eddies of a furious river. 

But the tall man who had already answered Dick, 
by a prodigious exercise of voice restored silence 
and order in the mob. 

“ Search them,” he said, “ for arms. We may 
so judge of their intentions.” 

Upon Dick they found no weapon but his pon- 
iard, and this told in his favour, until one man 
officiously drew it from its sheath, and found it 
still uncleansed of the blood of Rutter. At this 
there was a great shout arrtong Sir Daniel’s fol- 
lowers, which the tall man suppressed by a gesture 
and an imperious glance. But when it came to the 
turn of Lawless, there was found under his gown 
a sheaf of arrows identical with those that had been 
shot. 

“ How say ye now? ” asked the tall man, frown- 
ingly, of Dick. 

” Sir,” replied Dick, “ I am here in sanctuary, is 
it not so? Well, sir, I see by your bearing that ye 
are high in station, and I read in your countenance 
the marks of piety and justice. To you, then, I 
will yield me prisoner, and that blithely, foregoing 
the advantage of this holy place. But rather than 
to be yielded into the discretion of that man — 
whom I do here accuse with a loud voice to be the 
murderer of my natural father and the unjust re- 
tainer of my lands and revenues — rather than 
that, I would beseech you, under favour, with 
your own gentle hand, to despatch me on the 
spot. Your own ears have heard him, how be- 


250 THE BLACK ARROW 

fore that I was proven guilty he did threaten 
me with torments. It standeth not with your own 
honour to deliver me to my sworn enemy and 
old oppressor, but to try me fairly by the way 
of law, and, if that I be guilty indeed, to slay 
me mercifully.” 

“ My lord,” cried Sir Daniel, “ ye will not 
hearken to this wolf? His bloody dagger reeks 
him the lie into his face.” 

“ Nay, but suffer me, good knight,” returned the 
tall stranger ; “ your own vehemence doth some- 
what tell against yourself.” 

And here the bride, who had come to herself 
some minutes past and looked wildly on upon this 
scene, broke loose from those that held her, and 
fell upon her knees before the last speaker. 

“ My Lord of Risingham,” she cried, “ hear me, 
in justice. I am here in this man’s custody by mere 
force, reft from mine own people. Since that day 
I had never pity, countenance, nor comfort from, 
the face of man — but from him only — Richard 
Shelton — whom they now accuse and labour to 
undo. My lord, if he was yesternight in Sir 
Daniel’s mansion, it was I that brought him there ; 
he came but at my prayer, and thought to do no 
hurt. While yet Sir Daniel was a good lord to 
him, he fought with them of the Black Arrow loy- 
ally; but when his foul guardian sought his life 
by practices, and he fled by night, for his soul’s 
sake, out of that bloody house, whither was he to 
turn — he, helpless and penniless? Or if he be 
fallen among ill company, whom should ye blame 


THE BLACK ARROW 251 

— the lad that was unjustly handled, or the guar- 
dian that did abuse his trust ? ” 

And then the short young lady fell on her knees 
by Joanna’s side. 

“ And I, my good lord and natural uncle,” she 
added, “ I can bear testimony, on my conscience 
and before the face of all, that what this maiden 
saith is true. It was I, unworthy, that did lead the 
young man in.” 

Earl Risingham had heard in silence, and when 
the voices ceased, he still stood silent for a space. 
Then he gave Joanna his hand to arise, though it 
was to be observed that he did not offer the like 
courtesy to her who had called herself his niece. 

“ Sir Daniel,” he said, “ here is a right intricate 
affair, the which, with your good leave, it shall be 
mine to examine and adjust. Content ye, then; 
your business is in careful hands; justice shall be 
done you ; and in the meanwhile, get ye inconti- 
nently home, and have your hurts attended. The 
air is shrewd, and I would not ye took cold upon 
these scratches.” 

He made a sign with his hand; it was passed 
down the nave by obsequious servants, who waited 
there upon his smallest gesture. Instantly, without 
the church, a tucket sounded shrill, and through 
the open portal archers and men-at-arms, uni- 
formly arrayed in the colours and wearing the 
badge of Lord Risingham, began to file into the 
church, took Dick and Lawless from those who 
still detained them, and, closing their files about 
the prisoners, marched forth again and disappeared. 


2 S 2 the black arrow 

As they were passing, Joanna held both her hands 
to Dick and cried him her farewell ; and the brides- 
maid, nothing downcast by her uncle’s evident 
displeasure, blew him a kiss, with a “ Keep your 
heart up, lion-driver ! ” that for the first time since 
the accident called up a smile to the faces of the 
crowd. 


I 


CHAPTER V 


EARL RISINGHAM 

E arl RISINGHAM, although by far the 
most important person then in Shoreby, 
was poorly lodged in the house of a private 
gentleman upon the extreme outskirts of the town. 
Nothing but the armed men at the doors, and the 
mounted messengers that kept arriving and depart- 
ing, announced the temporary residence of a great 
lord. 

Thus it was that, from lack of space, Dick and 
Lawless were clapped into the same apartment. 

“ Well spoken. Master Richard,” said the out- 
law ; “ it was excellently well spoken, and, for 
my part, I thank you cordially. Here we are in 
good hands; we shall be justly tried, and, some 
time this evening, decently hanged on the same 
tree.” 

“ Indeed, my poor friend, I do believe it,” an- 
swered Dick. 

“ Yet have we a string to our bow,” returned 
Lawless. “ Ellis Duckworth is a man out of ten 
thousand ; he holdeth you right near his heart, both 
for your own and for your father’s sake ; and know- 
ing you guiltless of this fact, he will stir earth and 
heaven to bear you clear.” 


254 the black arrow 

“ It may not be,” said Dick. “ What can he do? 
He hath but a handful. Alack, if it were but to- 
morrow — could I but keep a certain tryst an hour 
before noon to-morrow — all were, I think, other- 
wise. But now there is no help.” 

“ Well,” concluded Lawless, “ an ye will stand 
to it for my innocence, I will stand to it for yours, 
and that stoutly. It shall naught avail us; but an 
I be to hang, it shall not be for lack of swearing.” 

And then, while Dick gave himself over to his 
reflections, the old rogue curled himself down into 
a corner, pulled his monkish hood about his face, 
and composed himself to sleep. Soon he was loudly 
snoring, so utterly had his long life of hardship and 
adventure blunted the sense of apprehension. 

It was long after noon, and the day was already 
failing, before the door was opened and Dick taken 
forth and led up-stairs to where, in a warm cabinet, 
Earl Risingham sat musing over the fire. 

On his captive’s entrance he looked up. 

“ Sir,” he said, “ I knew your father, who was 
a man of honour, and this inclineth me to be the 
more lenient; but I may not hide from you that 
heavy charges lie against your character. Ye do 
consort with murderers and robbers; upon a clear 
probation ye have carried war against the king’s 
peace; ye are suspected to have piratically seized 
upon a ship ; ye are found skulking with a counter- 
feit presentment in your enemy’s house; a man is 
slain that very evening ” 

“ An it like you, my lord,” Dick interposed, “ I 
will at once avow my guilt, such as it is. I slew 


THE BLACK ARROW 25^ 

this fellow Rutter ; and to the proof ” — searching' 
in his bosom — “ here is a letter from his wallet.” 

Lord Risingham took the letter, and opened and 
read it twice. 

“ Ye have read this? ” he inquired. 

“ I have read it,” answered Dick. 

“ Are ye for York or Lancaster ? ” the earl 
demanded. 

“ ]\Iy lord, it was but a little while back that I 
was asked that question, and knew not how to 
I answer it,” said Dick ; “ but having answered once, 
I will not vary. My lord, I am for York.” 

The earl nodded approvingly. 

“ Honestly replied,” he said. “ But wherefore, 
then, deliver me this letter?” 

“ Nay, but against traitors, my lord, are not all 
sides arrayed ? ” cried Dick. 

“ I would they were, young gentleman,” re- 
turned the earl ; “ and I do at least approve your 
saying. There is more youth than guile in you, I 
do perceive; and were not Sir Daniel a mighty 
man upon our side, I were half tempted to espouse 
your quarrel. For I have inquired, and it appears 
ye have been hardly dealt with, and have much 
excuse. But look ye, sir, I am, before all else, a 
leader in the Queen’s interest; and though by 
nature a just man, as I believe, and leaning even to 
the excess of mercy, yet must I order my goings 
for my party’s interest, and, to keep Sir Daniel, I 
would go far about.” 

“My lord,” returned Dick, ye will think me 
very bold to counsel you ; but do ye count upon Sir 


*56 THE BLACK ARROW 

Daniel’s faith? Methought he had changed sides 
intolerably often.” 

“ Nay, it is the way of England. What would 
ye have? ” the earl demanded. “ But ye are unjust 
to the knight of Tunstall ; and as faith goes, in this 
unfaithful generation, he hath of late been hon- 
ourably true to us of Lancaster. Even in our last 
reverses he stood firm.” 

“ An it pleased you, then,” said Dick, “ to cast , 
your eye upon this letter, ye might somewhat change 
your thought of him ” ; and he handed to the earl 
Sir Daniel’s letter to Lord Wensleydale. 

The effect upon the earl’s countenance was in- 
stant ; he lowered like an angry lion, and his hand, 
with a sudden movement, clutched at his dagger. 

“Ye have read this also? ” he asked. 

“ Even so,” said Dick. “ It is your lordship’s 
own estate he offers to Lord Wensleydale?” 

“ It is my own estate, even as ye say ! ” returned 
the earl. “ I am your bedesman for this letter. It 
hath shown me a fox’s hole. Command me, Master 
Shelton; I will not be backward in gratitude, and 
to begin with, York or Lancaster, true man or 
thief, I do now set you at freedom. Go, a-Mary’s 
name! But judge it right that I retain and hang 
your fellow. Lawless. The crime hath been most 
open, and it were fitting that some open punish- 
ment should follow.” 

“ My lord, I make it my first suit to you to spare 
him also,” pleaded Dick. 

“ It is an old, condemned rogue, thief, and vaga- 
bond, Master Shelton,” said the earl. “ He hath 


THE BLACK ARROW 257 

been gallows-ripe this score of years. And, whether 
for one thing or another, whether to-morrow or 
the day after, where is the great choice? ” 

“ Yet, my lord, it was through love to me that 
he came hither,” answered Dick, “ and I were 
churlish and thankless to desert him.” 

“ Master Shelton, ye are troublesome,” replied 
the earl, severely. “ It is an evil way to prosper 
in this world. Howbeit, and to be quit of your 
importunity, I will once more humour you. Go, 
then, together; but go warily, and get swiftly out 
of Shoreby town. For this Sir Daniel (whom may 
the saints confound!) thirsteth most greedily to 
have your blood.” 

“ My lord, I do now offer you in words my 
gratitude, trusting at some brief date to pay you 
some of it in service,” replied Dick, as he turned 
from the apartment. 


CHAPTER VI 


ARBLASTER AGAIN 

W HEN Dick and Lawless were suffered 
to steal, by a back way, out of the house 
where Lord Risingham held his garri- 
son, the evening had already come. 

They paused in shelter of the garden wall to 
consult on their best course. The danger was ex- 
treme. If one of Sir Daniel’s men caught sight of 
them and raised the view-hallo, they would be run 
down and butchered instantly. And not only was 
the town of Shoreby a mere net of peril for their 
lives, but to make for the open country was to run 
the risk of the patrols. . ! 

A little way off, upon some open ground, they i 
spied a windmill standing; and hard by that, a I 
very large granary with open doors. j 

“ How if we lay there until the night fall ? 
Dick proposed. 

And Lawless having no better suggestion to offer, 
they made a straight push for the granary at a run, 
and concealed themselves behind the door among 
some straw. The daylight rapidly departed; and 
presently the moon was silvering the frozen snow. 
Now or never was their opportunity to gain the 
Goat and Bagpipes unobserved and change their 


THE BLACK ARROW 259 

tell-tale garments. Yet even then it was advisable 
to go round by the outskirts, and not run the 
; gauntlet of the market-place, where, in the con- 
I course of people, they stood the more imminent 
I peril to be recognised and slain. 

This course was a long one. It took them not 
i far from the house by the beach, now lying dark 
; and silent, and brought them forth at last by the 
I margin of the harbour. Many of the ships, as they 
I could see by the clear moonshine, had weighed 
I anchor, and, profiting by the calm sky, proceeded 
for more distant parts ; answerably to this, the rude 
alehouses along the beach (although, in defiance of 
the curfew law, they still shone with fire and 
candle) were no longer thronged with customers, 
and no longer echoed to the chorus of sea-songs. 

Hastily, half running, with their monkish rai- 
ment kilted to the knee, they plunged through the 
deep snow and threaded the labyrinth of marine 
lumber ; and they were already more than half-way 
round the harbour when, as they were passing close 
before an alehouse, the door suddenly opened and 
let out a gush of light upon their fleeting figures. 

Instantly they stopped, and made believe to be 
engaged in earnest conversation. 

Three men, one after another, came out of the 
alehouse, and the last closed the door behind him. 
All three were unsteady upon their feet, as if they 
had passed the day in deep potations, and they now 
stood wavering in the moonlight, like men who 
knew not what they would be after. The tallest 
of the three was talking in a loud, lamentable voice. 


26 o the black arrow ^ 


“ Seven pieces of as good Gascony as ever a 
tapster broached,” he was saying, “ the best ship 
out o’ the port o’ Dartmouth, a Virgin Mary parcel- 
gilt, thirteen pounds of good gold money ” 

“ I have bad losses, too,” interrupted one of the 
others. “ I have had losses of mine own, gossip 
Arblaster. I was robbed at Martinmas of five 
shillings and a leather wallet well worth ninepence 
farthing.” 

Dick’s heart smote him at what he heard. Until 
that moment he had not perhaps thought twice of 
the poor skipper who had been ruined by the loss 
of the Good Hope; so careless, in those days, were 
men who wore arms of the goods and interests 
of their inferiors. But this sudden encounter re- 
minded him sharply of the high-handed manner and 
ill-ending of his enterprise ; and both he and Law- 
less turned their heads the other way, to avoid the 
chance of recognition. 

The ship’s dog had, however, made his escape* 
from the wreck and found his way back again to 
Shoreby. He was now at Arblaster’s heels, and 
suddenly sniffing and pricking his ears, he darted 
forward and began to bark furiously at the two 
sham friars. 

His master unsteadily followed Itm. 

“ Hey, shipmates! ” he cried. “ Have ye ever a 
penny piece for a poor old shipman, clean destroyed 
by pirates? I am a man that woi|ld have paid for 
you both o’ Thursday morning; and now here I 
be, o’ Saturday night, begging for a flagon of ale! 
Ask my man Tom, if ye misdoubt me. Seven 


THE BLACK ARROW 261 


pieces of good Gascon wine, a ship that was mine 
own, and was my father’s before me, a Blessed 
IVIary of plane-tree wood and parcel-gilt, and 
thirteen pounds in gold and silver. Hey! what 
say ye? A man that fought the French, too; 
for I have fought the French; I have cut more 
French throats upon the high seas than ever a 
man that sails out of Dartmouth. Come, a penny 
piece.” 

Neither Dick nor Lawless durst answer him a 
word, lest he should recognise their voices; and 
they stood there as helpless as a ship ashore, not 
knowing where to turn nor 'what to hope. 

“ Are ye dumb, boy ? ” inquired the skipper. 
“ iMates,” he added, with a hiccup, “ they be dumb. 
I like not this manner of discourtesy ; for an a 
man be dumb, so be as he ’s courteous, he will still 
speak when he was spoken to, methinks.” 

By this time the sailor, Tom, who was a man of 
great personal strength, seemed to have conceived 
some suspicion of these two speechless figures ; and 
being soberer than his captain, stepped suddenly 
before him, took Lawless roughly by the shoulder, 
and asked him, with an oath, what ailed him that 
he held his tongue. To this the outlaw, thinking 
all was over, made answer by a wrestling feint that 
stretched the sailor on the sand, and, calling upon 
Dick to follow him, took to his heels among the 
lumber. 

The affair passed in a second. Before Dick 
could run at all, Arblaster had him in his arms; 
Tom, crawling on his face, had caught him by one 


262 THE BLACK ARROW 


foot, and the third man had a drawn cutlass 
brandishing above his head. 

It was not so much the danger, it was not so 
much the annoyance, that now bowed down the 
spirits of young Shelton; it was the profound 
humiliation to have escaped Sir Daniel, convinced 
Lord Risingham, and now fall helpless in the 
hands of this old, drunken sailor; and not merely 
helpless, but, as his conscience loudly told him 
when it was too late, actually guilty — actually the 
bankrupt debtor of the man whose ship he had 
stolen and lost. 

“ Bring me him back into the alehouse, till I see 
his face,” said Arblaster. 

“Nay, nay,” returned Tom; “but let us first 
unload his wallet, lest the other lads cry share.” 

But though he was searched from head to foot, 
not a penny was found upon him; nothing but 
Lord Foxham’s signet, which they plucked sav- 
agely from his finger. 

“ Turn me him to the moon,” said the skipper; 
and taking Dick by the chin, he cruelly jerked his 
head into the air. “ Blessed Virgin ! ” he cried, “ it 
is the pirate ! ” 

“ Hey ! ” cried Tom. 

“ By the Virgin of Bordeaux, it is the man him- 
self ! ” repeated Arblaster. “ What, sea-thief, do I 
hold you ? ” he cried. “ Where is my ship ? Where 
is my wine? Hey! have I you in my hands? 
Tom, give me one end of a cord here; I will so 
truss me this sea-thief, hand and foot together, 
like a basting turkey — marry, I will so bind 


THE BLACK ARROW 263 

him up — and thereafter I will so beat — so beat 
him ! ” 

And so he ran on, winding the cord meanwhile 
about Dick’s limbs with the dexterity peculiar to 
seamen, and at every turn and cross securing it 
with a knot, and tightening the whole fabric with 
a savage pull. 

When he had done, the lad was a mere package 
in his hands — as helpless as the dead. The skipper 
held him at arm’s length, and laughed aloud. Then 
he fetched him a stunning buffet on the ear; and 
then turned him about, and furiously kicked and 
kicked him. Anger rose up in Dick’s bosom like 
a storm ; anger strangled him, and he thought to 
have died; but when the sailor, tired of this cruel 
play, dropped him all his length upon the sand and 
turned to consult with his companions, he instantly 
regained command of his temper. Here was a 
momentary respite; ere they began again to tor- 
ture him, he might have found some method to 
escape from this degrading and fatal misadventure. 

Presently, sure enough, and while his captors 
were still discussing what to do with him, he took 
heart of grace, and, with a pretty steady voice, 
addressed them. 

“ My masters.” he began, “ are ye gone clean 
foolish? Here hath Heaven put into your hands 
as pretty an occasion to grow rich as ever ship- 
man had — such as ye might make thirty over-sea 
adventures and not find again — and, by the mass ! 
what do ye ? Beat me ? — nay ; so would an angry 
child! But for long-headed tarry-Johns, that fear 


264 THE BLACK ARROW 

not fire nor water, and that love gold as they love 
beef, methinks ye are not wise.” 

“ Ay,” said Tom, “ now y’ are trussed ye would 
cozen us.” 

“ Cozen you! ” repeated Dick. ** Nay, if ye be 
fools, it would be easy. But if ye be shrewd fel- 
lows, as I trow ye are, ye can see plainly where 
your interest lies. When I took your ship from 
you, we were many, we were well clad and armed ; 
but now, bethink you a little, who mustered that 
array? One incontestably that hath much gold. 
And if he, being already rich, continueth to hunt 
after more even in the face of storms — bethink 
you once more — shall there not be a treasure 
somewhere hidden ? ” 

“ What meaneth he? ” asked one of the men. 

“ Why, if ye have lost an old skiff and a few 
jugs of vinegary wine,” continued Dick, “ forget 
them, for the trash they are; and do ye rather 
buckle to an adventure worth the name, that shall, 
in twelve hours, make or mar you for ever. But 
take me up from where I lie, and let us go some- 
where near at hand and talk across a flagon, for 
I am sore and frozen, and my mouth is half among 
the snow.” 

“ He seeks but to cozen us,” said Tom, con- 
temptuously. 

“ Cozen ! cozen ! ” cried the third man. “ I 
would I could see the man that could cozen me! 
He were a cozener indeed ! Nay, I was not born 
yesterday. I can see a church when it hath a 
steeple on it; and for my part, gossip Arblaster, 


THE BLACK ARROW 265 

methinks there is some sense in this young man. 
Shall we go hear him, indeed? Say, shall we go 
hear him ? ” 

“ I would look gladly on a pottle of strong ale, 
good Master Pirret,” returned Arblaster, “ How 
say ye, Tom? But then the wallet is empty.” 

“ I will pay,” said the other — “I will pay. I 
would fain see this matter out; I do believe, upon 
my conscience, there is gold in it.” 

“ Nay, if ye get again to drinking, all is lost! ” 
cried Tom. 

“ Gossip Arblaster, ye suffer your fellow to 
have too much liberty,” returned Master Pirret. 
“ Would ye be led by a hired man? Fy, fy! ” 

“ Peace, fellow ! ” said Arblaster, addressing 
Tom. “Will ye put your oar in? Truly a fine 
pass, when the crew is to correct the skipper I ” 

“ Well, then, go your way,” said Tom ; “ I wash 
my hands of you.” 

“ Set him, then, upon his feet,” said Master 
Pirret. “ I know a privy place where we may 
drink and discourse.” 

“ If I am to walk, my friends, ye must set my 
feet at liberty,” said Dick, when he had been once 
more planted upright like a post. 

“ He saith true,” laughed Pirret. “ Truly, he 
could not walk accoutred as he is. Give it a slit 
— out with your knife and slit it, gossip.” 

Even Arblaster paused at this proposal; but as 
his companion continued to insist, and Dick had 
the sense to keep the merest wooden indifference 
of expression, and only shrugged his shoulder® 


266 THE BLACK ARROW 


over the delay, the skipper consented at last, and 
cut the cords which tied his prisoner’s feet and 
legs. Not only did this enable Dick to walk; but 
the whole network of his bonds being proportion- 
ately loosened, he felt the arm behind his back 
begin to move more freely, and could hope, with 
time and trouble, to entirely disengage it. So much 
he owed already to the owlish silliness and greed 
of Master Pirret. 

That worthy now assumed the lead, and con- 
ducted them to the very same rude alehouse where 
Lawless had taken Arblaster on the day of the 
gale. It was now quite deserted; the fire was a 
pile of red embers, radiating the most ardent heat ; 
and when they had chosen their places, and the 
landlord had set before them a measure of mulled 
ale, both Pirret and Arblaster stretched forth their 
legs and squared their elbows like men bent upon 
a pleasant hour. 

The table at which they sat, like all the others 
in the alehouse, consisted of a heavy, square board, 
set on a pair of barrels; and each of the four 
curiously-assorted cronies sat at one side of the 
square, Pirret facing Arblaster, and Dick opposite 
to the common sailor. 

“ And now, young man,” said Pirret, ‘‘ to your 
tale. It doth appear, indeed, that ye have some- 
what abused our gossip Arblaster ; but what then ? 
Make it up to him — show him but this chance to 
become wealthy — and I will go pledge he will 
forgive you.” 

So far Dick had spoken pretty much at random ; 


THE BLACK ARROW 267 

but it was now necessary, under the supervision of 
six eyes, to invent and tell some marvellous story, 
and, if it were possible, get back into his hands 
the all-important signet. To squander time was the 
first necessity. The longer his stay lasted, the more 
would his captors drink, and the surer should he be 
when he attempted his escape. 

Well, Dick was not much of an inventor, and 
what he told was pretty much the tale of Ali Baba, 
with Shoreby and Tunstall Forest substituted for 
the East, and the treasures of the cavern rather 
exaggerated than diminished. As the reader is 
aware, it is an excellent story, and has but one 
drawback — that it is not true ; and so, as these 
three simple shipmen now heard it for the first 
time, their eyes stood out of their faces, and their 
mouths gaped like codfish at a fishmonger’s. 

Pretty soon a second measure of mulled ale 
was called for; and while Dick was still artfully 
spinning out the incidents a third followed the 
second. 

Here was the position of the parties towards 
the end : 

Arblaster, three-parts drunk and one-half asleep, 
hung helpless on his stool. Even Tom had been 
much delighted with the tale, and his vigilance 
had abated in proportion. Meanwhile, Dick had 
gradually wormed his right arm clear of its bonds, 
and was ready to risk all. 

“ And so,” said Pirret, “ y’ are one of these? ” 

“ I was made so,” replied Dick, “ against my 
will ; but an I could but get a sack or two of gold 


268 THE BLACK ARROW 


coin to my share, I should be a fool indeed to con- 
tinue dwelling in a filthy cave, and standing shot 
and buffet like a soldier. Here be we four ; good ! 
Let us, then, go forth into the forest to-morrow 
ere the sun be up. Could we come honestly by a 
donkey, it were better ; but an we cannot, we have 
our four strong backs, and I warrant me we shall 
come home staggering.” 

Pirret licked his lips. 

“ And this magic,” he said — “ this password, 
whereby the cave is opened — how call ye it, 
friend ? ” 

“ Nay, none know the word but the three chiefs,” 
returned Dick ; “ but here is your great good for- 
tune, that, on this very evening, I should be the 
bearer of a spell to open it. It is a thing not 
trusted twice a year beyond the captain’s wallet.” 

“ A spell ! ” said Arblaster, half awakening, and 
squinting upon Dick with one eye. “ Aroint thee ! 
no spells! I be a good Christian. Ask my man 
Tom, else.” 

“ Nay, but this is white magic,” said Dick. “ It 
doth naught with the devil ; only the powers of 
numbers, herbs, and planets.” 

“ Ay, ay,” said Pirret ; “ ’t is but white magic, 
gossip. There is no sin therein, I do assure you. 
But proceed, good youth. This spell — in what 
should it consist ? ” 

“ Nay, that I will incontinently show you,” an- 
swered Dick. “ Have ye there the ring ye took 
from my finger? Good! Now hold it forth be- 
fore you by the extreme finger-ends, at the arm’s 


THE BLACK ARROW 269 

length, and over against the shining of these em- 
bers, ’T is so exactly. Thus, then, is the spell.” 

With a haggard glance, Dick saw the coast was 
clear between him and the door. He put up an 
internal prayer. Then whipping forth his arm, he 
made but one snatch of the ring, and at the same 
instant, levering up the table, he sent it bodily over 
upon the seaman Tom. He, poor soul, went down 
bawling under the ruins; and before Arblaster 
understood that anything was wrong, or Pirret 
could collect his dazzled wits, Dick had run to the 
door and escaped into the moonlit night. 

The moon, which now rode in the mid-heavens, 
and the extreme whiteness of the snow, made the 
open ground about the harbour bright as day : and 
young Shelton leaping, with kilted robe, among the 
lumber, was a conspicuous figure from afar. 

Tom and Pirret followed him with shouts ; from 
every drinking-shop they were joined by others 
whom their cries aroused; and presently a whole 
fleet of sailors was in full pursuit. But Jack ashore 
was a bad runner, even in the fifteenth century, and 
Dick, besides, had a start, which he rapidly im- 
proved, until, as he drew near the entrance of a 
narrow lane, he even paused and looked laughingly 
behind him. 

Upon the white floor of snow, all the shipmen 
of Shoreby came clustering in an inky mass, and 
tailing out rearward in isolated clumps. Every man 
was shouting or screaming; every man was ges- 
ticulating with both arms in air; some one was 
continually falling; and to complete the picture, 


270 THE BLACK ARROW 

when one fell, a dozen would fall upon the top of 
him. 

The confused mass of sound which they rolled 
up as high as to the moon was partly comical and 
partly terrifying to the fugitive whom they were 
hunting. In itself, it was impotent, for he made 
sure no seaman in the port could run him down. 
But the mere volume of noise, in so far as it must 
awake all the sleepers in Shoreby and bring all the 
skulking sentries to the street, did really threaten 
him with danger in the front. So, spying a dark 
doorway at a corner, he whipped briskly into it, 
and let the uncouth hunt go by him, still shouting 
and gesticulating, and all red with hurry and white 
with tumbles in the snow. 

It was a long while, indeed, before this great in- 
vasion of the town by the harbour came to an end, 
and it was long before silence was restored. For 
long, lost sailors were still to be heard pounding 
and shouting through the streets in all directions 
and in every quarter of the town. Quarrels fol- 
lowed, sometimes among themselves, sometimes 
with the men of the patrols; knives were drawn, 
blows given and received, and more than one dead 
body remained behind upon the snow. 

When, a full hour later, the last seaman returned 
grumblingly to the harbour side and his particular 
tavern, it may fairly be questioned if he had ever 
known what manner of man he was pursuing, but 
it was absolutely sure that he had now forgotten. 
By next morning there were many strange stories 
flying; and a little while after, the legend of the 


THE BLACK ARROW 271 

devil’s nocturnal visit was an article of faith with 
all the lads of Shoreby. 

But the return of the last seaman did not, even 
yet, set free young Shelton from his cold im- 
prisonment in the doorway. 

For some time after, there was a great activity 
of patrols ; and special parties came forth to make 
the round of the place and report to one or other 
of the great lords, whose slumbers had been thus 
unusually broken. 

The night was already well spent before Dick 
ventured from his hiding-place and came, safe and 
sound, but aching with cold and bruises, to the 
door of the Goat and Bagpipes. As the law re- 
quired, there was neither fire nor candle in the 
house; but he groped his way into a corner of the 
icy guest-room, found an end of a blanket, which 
he hitched around his shoulders, and creeping close 
to the nearest sleeper, was soon lost in slumber. 


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BOOK V 


CROOKBACK 



CHAPTER I 


THE SHRILL TRUMPET 

V ERY early the next morning, before the 
first peep of the day, Dick arose, changed 
his garments, armed himself once more 
like a gentleman, and set forth for Lawless’s den 
in the forest. There, it will be remembered, he had 
left Lord Foxham’s papers; and to get these and 
be back in time for the tryst with the young Duke 
of Gloucester could only be managed by an early 
start and the most vigorous walking. 

The frost was more rigorous than ever; the air 
windless and dry, and stinging to the nostril. The 
moon had gone down, but the stars were still bright 
and numerous, and the reflection from the snow 
was clear and cheerful. There was no need for a 
lamp to walk by ; nor, in that still but ringing air, 
the least temptation to delay. 

Dick had crossed the greater part of the open 
ground between Shoreby and the forest, and had 
reached the bottom of the little hill, some hundred 
yards below the Cross of St. Bride, when, through 
the stillness of the black morn, there rang forth the 
note of a trumpet, so shrill, clear, and piercing, 
that he thought he had never heard the match of 
it for audibility. It was blown once, and then 


276 THE BLACK ARROW 

hurriedly a second time; and then the clash of 
steel succeeded. 

At this young Shelton pricked his ears, and 
drawing his sword, ran forward up the hill. 

Presently he came in sight of the cross, and was 
aware of a most fierce encounter raging on the road 
before it. There were seven or eight assailants, 
and but one to keep head against them ; but so 
active and dexterous was this one, so desperately 
did he charge and scatter his opponents, so deftly 
keep his footing on the ice, that already, before 
Dick could intervene, he had slain one, wounded 
another, and kept the whole in check. 

Still, it was by a miracle that he continued his 
defence, and at any moment, any accident, the 
least slip of foot or error of hand, his life would 
be'a forfeit. 

“ Hold ye well, sir ! Here is help ! ” cried 
Richard ; and forgetting that he was alone, and 
that the cry was somewhat irregular, “ To the 
Arrow ! to the Arrow ! ” he shouted, as he fell 
upon the rear of the assailants. 

These were stout fellows also, for they gave not 
an inch at this surprise, but faced about, and fell 
with astonishing fury upon Dick. Four against 
one, the steel flashed about him in the starlight; 
the sparks flew fiercely; one of the men opposed 
to him fell — in the stir of the fight he hardly 
knew why ; then he himself was struck across the 
head, and though the steel cap below his hood 
protected him, the blow beat him down upon one 
knee, with a brain whirling like a windmill-sail. 


THE BLACK ARROW 277 

Meanwhile the man whom he had come to rescue, 
instead of joining in the conflict, had, on the first 
sign of intervention, leaped aback and blown again, 
and yet more urgently and loudly, on that same 
shrill-voiced trumpet that began the alarm. Next 
moment, indeed, his foes were on him, and he 
was once more charging and fleeing, leaping, stab- 
bing, dropping to his knee, and using indifferently 
sword and dagger, foot and hand, with the 
same unshaken courage and feverish energy and 
speed. 

But that ear-piercing summons had been heard 
at last. There was a muffled rushing in the snow ; 
and in a good hour for Dick, who saw the sword- 
points glitter already at his throat, there poured 
forth out of the wood upon both sides a disorderly 
torrent of mounted men-at-arms, each cased in iron, 
and with visor lowered, each bearing his lance in 
rest, or his sword bared and raised, and each carry- 
ing, so to speak, a passenger, in the shape of an 
archer or page, who leaped one after another from 
their perches, and had presently doubled the array. 

The original assailants, seeing themselves out- 
numbered and surrounded, threw down their arms 
without a word. 

“ Seize me these fellows ! ” said the hero of the 
trumpet; and when his order had been obeyed, he 
drew near to Dick and looked him in the face. 

Dick, returning this scrutiny, was surprised to 
find in one who had displayed such strength, skill, 
and energy, a lad no older than himself — slightly 
deformed, with one shoulder higher than the other. 


ayS THE BLACK ARROW 

and of a pale, painful, and distorted countenanced 
The eyes, however, were very clear and bold. 

“ Sir,” said this lad, “ ye came in good time for 
me, and none too early.” 

“ My lord,” returned Dick, with a faint sense 
that he was in the presence of a great personage, 
“ ye are yourself so marvellous a good swordsman 
that I believe ye had managed them single-handed. 
Howbeit, it was certainly well for me that your 
men delayed no longer than they did.” 

“ How knew ye who I was ? ” demanded the 
stranger. 

“ Even now, my lord,” Dick answered, “ I am 
ignorant of whom I speak with.” 

“Is it so?” asked the other. “And yet ye 
threw yourself head-first into this unequal battle.” 

“ I saw one man valiantly contending against 
many,” replied Dick, “ and I had thought myself 
dishonoured not to bear him aid.” 

A singular sneer played about the young noble- 
man’s mouth as he made answer : 

“ These are very brave words. But to the more 
essential — are ye Lancaster or York? ” 

“ My lord, I make no secret ; I am clear for 
York,” Dick answered. 

“ By the mass ! ” replied the other, “ it is well 
for you.” 

And so saying, he turned towards one of his 
followers. 

“ Let me see,” he continued, in the same sneer- 

1 Richard Crookback would have been really far younger at this 
date. 


THE BLACK ARROW 279 

ing and cruel tones — “ let me see a clean end of 
these brave gentlemen. Truss me them up.” 

There were but five survivors of the attacking 
party. Archers seized them by the arms; they 
were hurried to the borders of the wood, and each 
placed below a tree of suitable dimension ; the rope 
was adjusted; an archer, carrying the end of it, 
hastily clambered overhead; and before a minute 
was over, and without a word passing upon either 
hand, the five men were swinging by the neck. 

“ And now,” cried the deformed leader, “ back 
to your posts, and when I summon you next, be 
readier to attend.” 

“ My lord duke,” said one man, “ beseech you, 
tarry not here alone. Keep but a handful of lances 
at your hand.” 

“ Fellow,” said the duke, “ I have forborne to 
chide you for your slowness. Cross me not, there- 
fore. I trust my hand and arm, for all that I be 
crooked. Ye were backward when the trumpet 
sounded; and ye are now too forward with your 
counsels. But it is ever so ; last with the lance and 
first with tongue. Let it be reversed.” 

And with a gesture that was not without a sort 
of dangerous nobility, he waved them off. 

The footmen climbed again to their seats behind 
the men-at-arms, and the whole party moved 
slowly away and disappeared in twenty different 
directions, under the cover of the forest 

The day was by this time beginning to break, 
and the stars to fade. The first grey glimmer of 
dawn shone upon the countenances of the two 


iSo THE BLACK ARROW 


young men, who now turned once more to face 
each other. 

“ Here,” said the duke, “ ye have seen my venge- 
ance, which is, like my blade, both sharp and 
ready. But I would not have you, for all Christen- 
dom, suppose me thankless. You that came to my 
aid with a good sword and a better courage — un- 
less that ye recoil from my misshapenness — come 
to my heart.” 

And so saying, the young leader held out his 
arms for an embrace. 

In the bottom of his heart Dick already enter- 
tained a great terror and some hatred for the man 
whom he had rescued; but the invitation was so 
worded that it would not have been merely dis- 
courteous, but cruel, to refuse or hesitate; and he 
hastened to comply. 

“ And now, my lord duke,” he said, when he 
had regained his freedom, “ do I suppose aright ? 
Are ye my Lord Duke of Gloucester ? ” 

“I am Richard of Gloucester,” returned -the 
other. “ And you — how call they you? ” 

Dick told him his name, and presented Lord 
Foxham’s signet, which the duke immediately 
recognised. 

“Ye come too soon,” he said; “ but why should 
I complain? Ye are like me, that was here at 
watch two hours before the day. But this is the 
first sally of mine arms ; upon this adventure, Mas- 
ter Shelton, shall I make or mar the quality of my 
renown. There lie mine enemies, under two old, 
skilled captains — Risingham and Brackley — ■ well 


THE BLACK ARROW 281 


posted for strength, I do believe, but yet upon two 
sides without retreat, enclosed betwixt the sea, the 
harbour, and the river. Methinks, Shelton, here 
were a great blow to be stricken, an we could strike 
it silently and suddenly.” 

“ I do think so, indeed,” cried Dick, warming. 

“ Have ye my Lord Foxham’s notes ? ” inquired 
the duke. 

And then, Dick, having explained how he was 
without them for the moment, made himself bold 
to offer information every jot as good, of his own 
knowledge, 

“ And for mine own part, my lord duke,” he 
added, “an ye had men enough, I would fall on 
even at this present. For, look ye, at the peep of 
day the watches of the night are over; but by day 
they keep neither watch nor ward — only scour the 
outskirts with horsemen. Now, then, when the 
night watch is already unarmed, and the rest are at 
their morning cup — now were the time to break 
them.” 

“ How many do ye count ? ” asked Gloucester. 

“ They number not two thousand,” Dick replied. 

“ I have seven hundred in the woods behind us,” 
said the duke ; “ seven hundred follow from Ket- 
tley, and will be here anon; behind these, and 
further, are four hundred more; and my Lord 
Foxham hath five hundred half a day from here, 
at Holywood. Shall we attend their coming, or 
fall on?” 

“ My lord,” said Dick, “ when ye hanged these 
five poor rogues ye did decide the question. Churls 


'282 THE BLACK ARROW 


although they were, in these uneasy times they will 
be lacked and looked for, and the alarm be given. 
Therefore, my lord, if ye do count upon the advan- 
tage of a surprise, ye have not, in my poor opinion, 
one whole hour in front of you.” 

“ I do think so indeed,” returned Crookback. 
“ Well, before an hour, ye shall be in the thick on ’t, 
winning spurs. A swift man to Holywood, carry- 
ing Lord Foxham’s signet ; another along the road 
to speed my laggards! Nay, Shelton, by the rood, 
it may be done I ” 

Therewith he once more set his trumpet to his 
lips and blew. 

This time he was not long kept waiting. In a 
moment the open space about the cross was filled 
with horse and foot. Richard of Gloucester took 
his place upon the steps, and despatched messenger 
after messenger to hasten the concentration of the 
seven hundred men that lay hidden in the im- 
mediate neighbourhood among the woods; and 
before a quarter of an hour had passed, all his 
dispositions being taken, he put himself at their 
head, and began to move down the hill towards 
Shoreby. 

His plan was simple. He was to seize a quar- 
ter of the town of Shoreby lying on the right 
hand* of the highroad and make his position good 
there in the narrow lanes until his reinforcements 
followed. 

If Lord Risingham chose to retreat, Richard 
would follow upon his rear, and take him between 
two fires ; or, if he preferred to hold the town, he 


THE BLACK ARROW 283 

would be shut in a trap, there to be gradually over- 
whelmed by force of numbers. 

There was but one danger, but that was im- 
minent and great — Gloucester’s seven hundred 
might be rolled up and cut to pieces in the first 
encounter, and, to avoid this, it was needful to 
make the surprise of their arrival as complete as 
possible. 

The footmen, therefore, were all once more 
taken up behind the riders, and Dick had the sig- 
nal honour meted out to him of mounting behind 
Gloucester himself. For as far as there was any 
cover the troops moved slowly, and when they 
came near the end of the trees that lined the high- 
way, stopped to breathe and reconnoitre. 

The sun was now well up, shining with a frosty 
brightness out of a yellow halo, and right over 
against the luminary, Shoreby, a field of snowy 
roofs and ruddy gables, was rolling up its columns 
of morning smoke. 

Gloucester turned round to Dick. 

“ In that poor place,” he said, “ where people are 
cooking breakfast, either you shall gain your, spurs 
and I begin a life of mighty honour and glory in 
the world’s eye, or both of us, as I conceive it, shall 
fall dead and be unheard of. Two Richards are 
we. Well, then, Richard Shelton, they shall be 
heard about, these two! Their swords shall not 
ring more loudly on men’s helmets than their 
names shall ring in people’s ears.” 

Dick was astonished at so great a hunger after 
fame, expressed with so great vehemence of voice 


284 the black arrow 

and language, and he answered very sensibly and 
quietly, that, for his part, he promised he would 
do his duty, and doubted not of victory if every one 
did the like. 

By this time the horses were well breathed, and 
the leader holding up his sword and giving rein, 
the whole troop of chargers broke into the gallop 
and thundered, with their double load of fighting 
men, down the remainder of the hill and across the 
snow-covered plain that still divided them from 
Shoreby. 


CHAPTER II 


THE BATTLE OF SHOREBY 

T he whole distance to be crossed was not 
above a quarter of a mile. But they had 
no sooner debouched beyond the cover of 
the trees than they were aware of people fleeing 
and screaming in the snowy meadows upon either 
hand. Almost at the same moment a great ru- 
mour began to arise, and spread and grow contin- 
ually louder in the town ; and they were not yet 
half-way to the nearest house before the bells began 
to ring backward from the steeple. 

The young duke ground his teeth together. By 
these so early signals of alarm he feared to find 
his enemies prepared; and if he failed to gain a 
footing in the town, he knew that his small party 
would soon be broken and exterminated in the 
open. 

In the town, however, the Lancastrians were far 
from being in so good a posture. It was as Dick 
had said. The night-guard had already doffed 
their harness; the rest were still hanging — un- 
latched, unbraced, all unprepared for battle — about 
their quarters ; and in the whole of Shoreby there 
were not, perhaps, fifty men full armed, or fifty 
chargers ready to be mounted. 


286 THE BLACK ARROW 


The beating of the bells, the terrifying summons 
of men who ran about the streets crying and beat- 
ing upon the doors, aroused in an incredibly short 
space at least two-score out of that half-hundred. 
These got speedily to horse, and, the alarm still 
flying wild and contrary, galloped in different 
directions. 

Thus it befell that, when Richard of Gloucester 
reached the first house of Shoreby, he was met in 
the mouth of the street by a mere handful of lances, 
whom he swept before his onset as the storm chases 
the bark. 

A hundred paces into the town, Dick Shelton 
touched the duke’s arm; the duke, in answer, 
gathered his reins, put the shrill trumpet to his 
mouth, and blowing a concerted point, turned to 
the right hand out of the direct advance. Swerv- 
ing like a single rider, his whole command turned 
after him, and, still at the full gallop of the 
chargers, swept up the narrow by-street. Only 
the last score of riders drew rein and faced about 
in the entrance; the footmen, whom they carried 
behind them, leapt at the same instant to the earth, 
and began, some to bend their bows, and others to 
break into and secure the houses upon either hand. 

Surprised at this sudden change of direction, and 
daunted by the firm front of the rear-guard, the 
few Lancastrians, after a momentary consultation, 
turned and rode farther into town to seek for 
reinforcements. 

The quarter of the town upon which, by the 
advice of Dick, Richard of Gloucester had now 


THE BLACK ARROW 287 

^ seized, consisted of five small streets of poor and 
ill-inhabited houses, occupying a very gentle emi- 
nencej and lying open towards the back. 

^ The five streets being each secured by a good 
^ guard, the reserve would thus occupy the centre, 
out of shot, and yet ready to carry aid wherever it 
was needed. 

^ Such was the poorness of the neighbourhood 
that none of the Lancastrian lords, and but few of 
> their retainers, had been lodged therein; and the 
'1 inhabitants, with one accord, deserted their houses 
and fled, squalling, along the streets or over garden 
walls. 

In the centre, where the five ways all met, a 
somewhat ill-favoured alehouse displayed the sign 
of the Chequers ; and here the Duke of Gloucester 
chose his headquarters for the day. 

To Dick he assigned the guard of one of the five 
streets. 

“ Go,” he said, “ win your spurs. Win glory 
for me : one Richard for another. I tell you, if I 
! rise, ye shall rise by the same ladder. Go,” he 
added, shaking him by the hand. 

But, as soon as Dick was gone, he turned to a 
little shabby archer at his elbow. 

“ Go, Dutton, and that right speedily,” he added. 
“ Follow that lad. If ye find him faithful, ye an- 
swer for his safety, a head for a head. Woe unto 
you, if ye return without him! But if he be faith- 
less — or, for one instant, ye misdoubt him — stab 
him from behind.” 

In the meanwhile Dick hastened to secure his 


288 THE BLACK ARROW 


post. The street he had to guard was very narrow, 
and closely lined with houses, which projected and 
overhung the roadway; but narrow and dark as 
it was, since it opened upon the market-place of the 
town, the main issue of the battle would probably 
fall to be decided on that spot. 

The market-place was full of townspeople flee- 
ing in disorder; but there was as yet no sign of 
any foeman ready to attack, and Dick judged 
he had some time before him to make ready his 
defence. 

The two houses at the end stood deserted, with 
open doors, as the inhabitants had left them in 
their flight, and from these he had the furniture 
hastily tossed forth and piled into a barrier in the 
entry of the lane. A hundred men were placed at 
his disposal, and of these he threw the more part 
into the houses, where they might lie in shelter and 
deliver their arrows from the windows. With the 
rest, under his own immediate eye, he lined the 
barricade. 

Meanwhile the utmost uproar and confusion had 
continued to prevail throughout the town; and 
what with the hurried clashing of bells, the sound- 
ing of trumpets, the swift movement of bodies of 
horse, the cries of the commanders, and the shrieks 
of women, the noise was almost deafening to the 
ear. Presently, little by little, the tumult began to 
subside; and soon after, files of men in armour 
and bodies of archers began to assemble and form 
in line of battle in the market-place. 

A large portion of this body were in murrey and 


THE BLACK ARROW 2^9 

blue, and in the mounted knight who ordered their 
array Dick recognised Sir Daniel Brackley. 

Then there befell a long pause, which was fol- 
lowed by the almost simultaneous sounding of four 
trumpets from four different quarters of the town. 
A fifth rang in answer from the market-place, and 
at the same moment the files began to move, and a 
shower of arrows rattled about the barricade, and 
sounded like blows upon the walls of the two 
flanking houses. 

The attack had begun, by a common signal, on 
all the five issues of the quarter. Gloucester was 
beleaguered upon every side; and Dick judged, 
if he would make good his post, he must rely en- 
tirely on the hundred men of his command. 

Seven volleys of arrows followed one upon the 
other, and in the very thick of the discharges Dick 
was touched from behind upon the arm, and found 
a page holding out to him a leathern jack, strength- 
ened with bright plates of mail. 

“ It is from my Lord of Gloucester,” said the 
page. “ He hath observed. Sir Richard, that ye 
went unarmed.” 

Dick, with a glow at his heart at being so ad- 
dressed, got to his feet and, with the assistance of 
the page, donned the defensive coat. Even as he 
did so, two arrows rattled harmlessly upon the 
plates, and a third struck down the page, mortally 
wounded, at his feet. 

Meantime the whole body of the enemy had 
been steadily drawing nearer across the market- 
place ; and by this time were so close at hand that 

*9 


290 THE BLACK ARROW 

Dick gave the order to return their shot. Immedi- 
ately, from behind the barrier and from the win- 
dows of the houses, a counterblast of arrows sped, 
carrying death. But the Lancastrians, as if they 
had but waited for a signal, shouted loudly in 
answer; and began to close at a run upon the 
barrier, the horsemen still hanging back, with 
visors lowered. 

Then followed an obstinate and deadly struggle, 
hand to hand. The assailants, wielding their fal- 
chions with one hand, strove with the other to drag 
down the structure of the barricade. On the other 
side, the parts were reversed; and the defenders 
exposed themselves like madmen to protect their 
rampart. So for some minutes the contest’ raged 
almost in silence, friend and foe falling one upon 
another. But it is always the easier to destroy ; and 
when a single note upon the tucket recalled the 
attacking party from this desperate service, much 
of the barricade had been removed piecemeal, and 
the whole fabric had sunk to half its height, and 
tottered to a general fall. 

And now the footmen in the market-place fell 
back, at a run, on every side. The horsemen, 
who had been standing in a line two deep, wheeled 
suddenly, and made their flank into their front; 
and as swift as a striking adder, the long, steel- 
clad column was launched upon the ruinous 
barricade. 

Of the first two horsemen, one fell, rider and 
steed, and was ridden down by his companions. 
The second leaped clean upon the summit of the 

1 


THE BLACK ARROW 291 

rampart, transpiercing an archer with his lance. 
Almost in the same instant he was dragged from 
the saddle and his horse despatched. 

And then the full weight and impetus of the 
charge burst upon and scattered the defenders. The 
men-at-arms, surmounting their fallen comrades, 
and carried onward by the fury of their onslaught, 
dashed through Dick’s broken line and poured 
thundering up the lane beyond, as a stream be- 
strides and pours across a broken dam. 

Yet was the fight not over. Still, in the narrow 
jaws of the entrance, Dick and a few survivors 
plied their bills like woodmen ; and already, across 
the width of the passage, there had been formed 
a second, a higher, and a more effectual rampart 
of fallen men and disembowelled horses, lashing in 
tlie agonies of death. 

Baffled by this fresh obstacle, the remainder of 
the cavalry fell back; and as, at the sight of this 
movement, the flight of arrows redoubled from the 
casements of the houses, their retreat had, for a 
moment, almost degenerated into flight. 

Almost at the same time, those who had crossed 
the barricade and charged farther up the street, 
being met before the door of the Chequers by the 
formidable hunchback and the whole reserve of the 
Yorkists, began to come scattering backward, in 
the excess of disarray and terror. 

Dick and his fellows faced about, fresh men 
poured out of the houses ; a cruel blast of arrows 
met the fugitives full in the face, while Gloucester 
was already riding down their rear; in the inside 


292 THE "BLACK ARROW 

of a minute and a half there was no living Lancas- 
trian in the street. 

Then, and not till then, did Dick hold up his 
reeking blade and give the word to cheer. 

Meanwhile Gloucester dismounted from his 
horse and came forward to inspect the post. His 
face was as pale as linen; but his eyes shone in 
his head like some strange jewel, and his voice, 
when he spoke, was hoarse and broken with the 
exultation of battle and success. He looked at the 
rampart, which neither friend nor foe could now 
approach without precaution, so fiercely did the 
horses struggle in the throes of death, and at the 
sight of that great carnage he smiled upon one 
side. 

“Despatch these horses,” he said; “they keep 
you from your vantage. Richard Shelton,” he 
added, “ye have pleased me. Kneel.” 

The Lancastrians had already resumed their 
archery, and the shafts fell thick in the mouth of 
the street; but the duke, minding them not at all, 
deliberately drew his sword and dubbed Richard a 
knight upon the spot. 

“And now. Sir Richard,” he continued, “if that 
ye see Lord Risingham, send me an express upon 
the instant. Were it your last man, let me hear 
of it incontinently. I had rather venture the post 
than lose my stroke at him. For mark me, all of 
ye,” he added, raising his voice, “if Earl Rising- 
ham fall by another hand than mine, I shall count 
this victory a defeat.” 

“My lord duke,” said one of his attendants, “is 


THE BLACK ARROW 293 

your grace not weary of exposing his dear life un- 
needfully? Why tarry we here?” 

“ Catesby,” returned the duke, “ here is the 
battle, not elsewhere. The rest are but feigned 
onslaughts. Here must we vanquish. And for the 
exposure — if ye were an ugly hunchback, and the 
children gecked at you upon the street, ye would 
count your body cheaper, and an hour of glory 
worth a life. Howbeit, if ye will, let us ride on 
and visit the other posts. Sir Richard here, my 
namesake, he shall still hold this entry, where he 
wadeth to the ankles in hot blood. Him can we 
trust. But mark it, Sir Richard, ye are not yet 
done. The worst is yet to ward. Sleep not.” 

He came right up to young Shelton, looking him 
hard in the eyes, and taking his hand in both of 
his, gave it so extreme a squeeze that the blood had 
nearly spurted. Dick quailed before his eyes. The 
insane excitement, the courage, and the cruelty 
that he read therein filled him with dismay about 
the future. This young duke’s was indeed a gal- 
lant spirit, to ride foremost in the ranks of war ; 
but after the battle, in the days of peace and in 
the circle of his trusted friends, that mind, it was 
to be dreaded, would continue to bring forth the 
fruits of death. 


CHAPTER III 


THE BATTLE OF SHOREBY 

(concluded ) 


D ick, once more left to his own counsels, 
began to look about him. The arrow-shot 
had somewhat slackened. On all sides 
the enemy were falling back ; and the greater part 
of the market-place was now left empty, the snow 
here trampled into orange mud, there splashed 
with gore, scattered all over with dead men and 
horses, and bristling thick with feathered arrows. 

On his own side the loss had been cruel. The 
jaws of the little street and the ruins of the barri- 
cade were heaped with the dead and dying; and 
out of the hundred men with whom he had begun 
the battle, there were not seventy left who could 
still stand to arms. 

At the same time, the day was passing. The 
first reinforcements might be looked for to arrive 
at any moment ; and the Lancastrians, already 
shaken by the result of their desperate but unsuc- 
cessful onslaught, were in an ill temper to support 
a fresh invader. 

There was a dial in the wall of one of the two 
flanking houses ; and this, in the frosty winter sun- 
shine, indicated ten of the forenoon. 


THE BLACK ARROW 295 

Dick turned to the man who was at his elbow, 
a little insignificant archer, binding a cut in his 
arm. 

“ It was well fought,” he said, “ and, by my 
sooth, they will not charge us twice.” 

“ Sir,” said the little archer, “ ye have fought 
right well for York, and better for yourself. Never 
hath man in so brief space prevailed so greatly on 
the duke’s affections. That he should have en- 
trusted such a post to one he knew not is a marvel. 
But look to your head, Sir Richard! If ye be 
vanquished — ay, if ye give way one foot’s breadth 
— axe or cord shall punish it ; and I am set if ye 
do aught doubtful, I will tell you honestly, here to 
stab you from behind.” 

Dick looked at the little man in amaze. 

“ You! ” he cried. “ And from behind! ” 

“ It is right so,” returned the archer; “ and be- 
cause I like not the affair I tell it you. Ye must 
make the post good. Sir Richard, at your peril. O, 
our Crookback is a bold blade and a good war- 
rior; but, whether in cold blood or in hot, he 
will have all things done exact to his command- 
ment. If any fail or hinder, they shall die the 
death.” 

“Now, by the saints!” cried Richard, “is this 
so ? And will men follow such a leader ? ” 

“ Nay, they follow him gleefully,” replied the 
other ; “ for if he be exact to punish, he is most 
open-handed to reward. And if he spare not the 
blood and sweat of others, he is ever liberal of his 
own, still in the first front of battle, still the last 


296 THE BLACK ARROW 

to sleep. He will go far, will Crookback Dick 0’ 
Gloucester ! ” 

The young knight, if he had before been brave 
and vigilant, was now all the more inclined to 
watchfulness and courage. His sudden favour, he 
began to perceive, had brought perils in its train. 
And he turned from the archer, and once more 
scanned anxiously the market-place. It lay empty 
as before. 

“I like not this quietude,” he said. “Doubtless 
they prepare us some surprise.” 

And, as if in answer to his remark, the archers 
began once more to advance against the barricade, 
and the arrows to fall thick. But there was some- 
thing hesitating in the attack. They came not on 
roundly, but seemed rather to await a further 
signal. 

Dick looked uneasily about him, spying for a 
hidden danger. And sure enough, about half-way 
up the little street, a door was suddenly opened 
from within, and the house continued, for some 
seconds, and both by door and window, to dis- 
gorge a torrent of Lancastrian archers. These, as 
they leaped down, hurriedly stood to their ranks, 
bent their bows, and proceeded to pour upon Dick’s 
rear a flight of arrows. 

At the same time, the assailants in the market- 
place redoubled their shot, and began to close in 
stoutly upon the barricade. 

Dick called down his whole command out of the 
houses, and facing them both ways, and encourag- 
ing their valour both by word and gesture, returned 


THE BLACK ARROW 297 

as best he could the double shower of shafts that 
fell about his post. 

Meanwhile house after house was opened in the 
street, and the Lancastrians continued to pour out 
of the doors and leap down from the windows, 
shouting victory, until the number of enemies upon 
Dick’s rear was almost equal to the number in his 
face. It was plain that he could hold the post no 
longer; what was worse, even if he could have 
held it, it had now become useless; and the whole 
Yorkist army lay in a posture of helplessness upon 
the brink of a complete disaster. 

The men beliind him formed the vital flaw in the 
general defence; and it was upon these that Dick 
turned, charging at the head of his men. So vig- 
orous was the attack, that the Lancastrian archers 
gave ground and staggered, and, at last, breaking 
their ranks, began to crowd back into the houses 
from which they had so recently and so vainglori- 
ously sallied. 

Meanwhile the men from the market-place had 
swarmed across the undefended barricade, and fell 
on hotly upon the other side; and Dick must once 
again face about, and proceed to drive them back. 
Once again the spirit of his men prevailed ; they 
cleared the street in a triumphant style, but even 
as they did so the others issued again out of the 
houses, and took them, a third time, upon the rear. 

The Yorkists began to be scattered; several 
times Dick found himself alone among his foes and 
plying his bright sword for life; several times he 
was conscious of a hurt. And meanwhile the fight 


C98 the black arrow 

sw ayed to and fro in the street without determinate 
result. 

Suddenly Dick was aware of a great trumpet- 
ing about the outskirts of the town. The war-cry 
of York began to be rolled up to heaven, as by 
many and triumphant voices. And at the same 
time the men in front of him began to give ground 
rapidly, streaming out of the street and back upon 
the market-place. Some one gave the word to fly. 
Trumpets were blown distractedly, some for a rally, 
some to charge. It was plain that a great blow had 
been struck, and the Lancastrians were thrown, at 
least for the moment, into full disorder, and some 
degree of panic. 

And then, like a theatre trick, there followed the 
last act of Shoreby Battle. The men in front of 
Richard turned tail, like a dog that has been 
whistled home, and fled like the wind. At the same 
moment there came through the market-place a 
storm of horsemen, fleeing and pursuing, the Lan- 
castrians turning back to strike with the sword, 
the Yorkists riding them down at the point of the 
lance. 

Conspicuous in the mellay, Dick beheld the 
Crookback. He was already giving a foretaste of 
that furious valour and skill to cut his way across 
the ranks of war, which, years afterwards upon the 
field of Bosworth, and when he was stained with 
crimes, almost sufficed to change the fortunes of 
the day and the destiny of the English throne. 
Evading, striking, riding down, he so forced and 
so manoeuvred his strong horse, so aptly defended 


THE BLACK ARROW 299 

himself, and so liberally scattered death to his 
opponents, that he was now far ahead of the fore- 
most of his knights, hewing his way, with the 
truncheon of a bloody sword, to where Lord Ris- 
ingham was rallying the bravest. A moment more 
and they had met; the tall, splendid, and famous 
warrior against the deformed and sickly boy. 

Yet Shelton had never a doubt of the result; 
and when the fight next opened for a moment, 
the figure of the earl had disappeared ; but still, 
in the first of the danger. Crookback Dick was 
launching his big horse and plying the truncheon 
of his sword. 

Thus, by Shelton’s courage in holding the mouth 
of the street against the first attack, and by the 
opportune arrival of his seven hundred reinforce- 
ments, the lad, who was afterwards to be handed 
down to the execration of posterity under the name 
of Richard III., had won his first considerable 
fight. 


CHAPTER IV 


THE SACK OF SHOREBY 

T here was not a foe left within striking 
distance ; and Dick, as he looked ruefully 
about him on the remainder of his gallant 
force, began to count the cost of victory. He was 
himself, now that the danger was ended, so stiff 
and sore, so bruised and cut and broken, and, 
above all, so utterly exhausted by his desperate 
and unremitting labours in the fight, that he seemed 
incapable of any fresh exertion. 

But this was not yet the hour for repose. 
Shoreby had been taken by assault; and though 
an open town, and not in any manner to be 
charged with the resistance, it was plain that these 
rough fighters would be not less rough now that 
the fight was over, and that the more horrid part 
of war would fall to be enacted. Richard of 
Gloucester was not the captain to protect the citi- 
zens from his infuriated soldiery; and even if he 
had the will, it might be questioned if he had the 
power. 

It was, therefore, Dick’s business to find and to 
protect Joanna; and with that end he looked about 
him at the faces of his men. The three or four 
who seemed likeliest to be obedient and to keep 


THE BLACK ARROW 301 

sober he drew aside; and promising them a rich 
reward and a special recommendation to the duke, 
led them across the market-place, now empty of 
horsemen, and into the streets upon the further 
side. 

Every here and there small combats of from two 
to a dozen still raged upon the open street; here 
and there a house was being besieged, the de- 
fenders throwing out stools and tables on the heads 
of the assailants. The snow was strewn with arms 
and corpses; but except for these partial combats 
the streets were deserted, and the houses, some 
standing open, and some shuttered and barricaded, 
had for the most part ceased to give out smoke. 

Dick, threading the skirts of these skirmishers, 
led his followers briskly in the direction of the 
abbey church ; but when he came the length of the 
main street, a cry of horror broke from his lips. 
Sir Daniel’s great house had been carried by as- 
sault. The gates hung in splinters from the 
hinges, and a double throng kept pouring in and 
out through the entrance, seeking and carrying 
booty. Meanwhile, in the upper storeys, some re- 
sistance was still being offered to the pillagers; 
for just as Dick came within eyeshot of the build- 
ing, a casement was burst open from within, and 
a poor wretch in murrey and blue, screaming and 
resisting, was forced through the embrasure and 
tossed into the street below. 

The most sickening apprehension fell upon Dick. 
He ran forward like one possessed, forced his way 
into the house among the foremost, and mounted 


302 THE BLACK ARROW I 

without pause to the chamber on the third floor 
where he had last parted from Joanna. It was a 
mere wreck; the furniture had been overthrown, j 
the cupboards broken open, and in one place a 
trailing corner of the arras lay smouldering on the 
embers of the fire. 

Dick, almost without thinking, trod out the in- 
cipient conflagration, and then stood bewildered. 
Sir Daniel, Sir Oliver, Joanna, all were gone; but 
whether butchered in the rout or safe escaped from 
Shoreby, who should say? 

He caught a passing archer by the tabard. 

“ Fellow,” he asked, “ were ye here when this 
house was taken ? ” 

“ Let be,” said the archer. “ A murrain! let be, 
or I strike.” 

“ Hark ye,” returned Richard, “ two can play at 
that. Stand and be plain.” 

But the man, flushed with drink and battle, 
struck Dick upon the shoulder with one hand, 
while with the other he twitched away his garment. 
Thereupon the full wrath of the young leader burst 
from his control. He seized the fellow in his strong 
embrace, and crushed him on the plates of his 
mailed bosom like a child; then, holding him at 
arm’s length, he bid him speak as he valued life. 

“ I pray you mercy I ” gasped the archer. “ An 
I had thought ye were so angry I would ’a’ been 
charier of crossing you. I was here indeed.” 

“ Know ye Sir Daniel ? ” pursued Dick. 

“ Well do I know him,” returned the man. 

“ Was he in the mansion ? ” 


THE BLACK ARROW 303 

“ Ay, sir, he was,” answered the archer ; “ but 
ev^en as we entered by the yard gate he rode forth 
’ by the garden.” 

“ Alone? ” cried Dick. 

“ He may ’a’ had a score of lances with him,” 
said the man. 

“Lances! No women, then?” asked Shelton. 

“ Troth, I saw not,” said the archer. “ But there 
I were none in the house, if that be your quest.” 

“ I thank you,” said Dick. “ Here is a piece 
for your pains.” But groping in his wallet, Dick 
found nothing. “ Inquire for me to-morrow,” he 
added — “ Richard Shelt Sir Richard Shel- 

ton,” he corrected, “ and I will see you handsomely 
rewarded.” 

And then an idea struck Dick. He hastily de- 
scended to the courtyard, ran with all his might 
across the garden, and came to the great door of 
the church. It stood wide open; within, every 
corner of the pavement was crowded with fugitive 
burghers, surrounded by their families and laden 
with the most precious of their possessions, while, 
at the high altar, priests in full canonicals were 
imploring the mercy of God. Even as Dick en- 
tered, the loud chorus began to thunder in the 
vaulted roofs. 

He hurried through the groups of refugees, and 
came to the door of the stair that led into the 
steeple. And here a tall churchman stepped before 
him and arrested his advance. 

“ Whither, my son ? ” he asked, severely. 

“ My father,” answered Dick, “ I am here upon 


304 THE BLACK ARROW 

an errand of expedition. Stay me not. I command 
here for my Lord of Gloucester.” 

“For my Lord of Gloucester?” repeated the 
priest. “ Hath, then, the battle gone so sore? ” 

“ The battle, father, is at an end, Lancaster clean 
sped, my Lord of Risingham — Heaven rest him ! 
— left upon the field. And now, with your good 
leave, I follow mine affairs.” And thrusting on 
one side the priest, who seemed stupefied at the 
news, Dick pushed open the door and rattled up 
the stairs four at a bound, and without pause or 
stumble, till he stepped upon the open platform at 
the top. 

Shoreby Church tower not only commanded the 
town, as in a map, but looked far, on both sides, 
over sea and land. It was now near upon noon; 
the day exceeding bright, the snow dazzling. And 
as Dick looked around him, he could measure the 
consequences of the battle. 

A confused, growling uproar reached him from 
the streets, and now and then, but very rarely, the 
clash of steel. Not a ship, not so much as a skiff 
remained in harbour ; but the sea was dotted with 
sails and row-boats laden with fugitives. On shore, 
too, the surface of the snowy meadows was broken 
up with bands of horsemen, some cutting their way 
towards the borders of the forest, others, who were 
doubtless of the Yorkist side, stoutly interposing 
and beating them back upon the town. Over all 
the open ground there lay a prodigious quantity of 
fallen men and horses, clearly defined upon the 
snow. 


THE BLACK ARROW 305 

To complete the picture, those of the foot sol- 
diers as had not found place upon a ship still kept 
up an archery combat on the borders of the port, 
and from the cover of the shoreside taverns. In 
that quarter, also, one or two houses had been fired, 
and the smoke towered high in the frosty sunlight, 
and blew off to sea in voluminous folds. 

Already close upon the margin of the woods, and 
somewhat in the line of Holywood, one particular 
clump of fleeing horsemen riveted the attention of 
the young watcher on the tower. It was fairly 
numerous; in no other quarter of the field did so 
many Lancastrians still hold together; thus they 
had left a wide, discoloured wake upon the snow, 
and Dick was able to trace them step by step from 
where they had left the town. 

While Dick stood watching them, they had 
gained, unopposed, the first fringe of the leafless 
forest, and, turning a little from their direction, 
the sun fell for a moment full on their array, as it 
was relieved against the dusky wood. 

“ Murrey and blue ! ” cried Dick. “ I swear it 
• — murrey and blue ! ” 

The next moment he was descending the stair- 
way. 

It was now his business to seek out the Duke of 
Gloucester, who alone, in the disorder of the forces, 
might be able to supply him with a sufficiency of 
men. The fighting in the main town was now 
practically at an end ; and as Dick ran hither and 
thither, seeking the commander, the streets were 
thick with wandering soldiers, some laden with 


30 


3o6 the black arrow 

more booty than they could well stagger under, 
others shouting drunk. None of them, when ques- 
tioned, had the least notion of the duke’s where- 
abouts; and, at last, it was by sheer good fortune 
that Dick found him, where he sat in the saddle 
directing operations to dislodge the archers from 
the harbour side. 

“ Sir Richard Shelton, ye are well found,” he 
said. “ I owe you one thing that I value little, my 
life; and one that I can never pay you for, this 
victory. Catesby, if I had ten such captains as Sir 
Richard, I would march forthright on London. 
But now, sir, claim your reward.” 

“ Freely, my lord,” said Dick, “ freely and 
loudly. One hath escaped to whom I owe some 
grudges, and taken with him one whom I owe love 
and service. Give me, then, fifty lances, that I 
may pursue; and for any obligation that your 
graciousness is pleased to allow, it shall be clean 
discharged.” 

How call ye him ? ” inquired the duke. 

“ Sir Daniel Brackley,” answered Richard. 

“ Out upon him, double-face ! ” cried Gloucester. 
“ Here is no reward. Sir Richard ; here is fresh 
service offered, and, if that ye bring his head to 
me, a fresh debt upon my conscience. Catesby, get 
him these lances; and you, sir, bethink ye, in the 
meanwhile, what pleasure, honour, or profit it shall 
be mine to give you.” 

Just then the Yorkist skirmishers carried one of 
the shoreside taverns, swarming in upon it on three 
rides, and driving out or taking its defenders. 


THE BLACK ARROW 307 

Crookback Dick was pleased to cheer the exploit, 
and pushing his horse a little nearer, called' to see 
the prisoners. 

There were four or five of them — two men of 
my Lord Shoreby’s and one of Lord Risingham’s 
among the number, and last, but in Dick’s eyes not 
least, a tall, shambling, grizzled old shipman, be- 
tween drunk and sober, and with a dog whimpering 
and jumping at his heels. 

The young duke passed them for a moment 
under a severe review. 

“ Good,” he said. “ Hang them.” 

And he turned the other way to watch the pro- 
gress of the fight. 

“ My lord,” said Dick, “ so please you, I have 
found my reward. Grant me the life and liberty 
of yon old shipman.” 

Gloucester turned and looked the speaker in the 
face. 

“ Sir Richard,” he said, “ I make not war with 
peacock’s feathers, but steel shafts. Those that 
are mine enemies I slay, and that without excuse 
or favour. For, bethink ye, in this realm of Eng- 
land, that is so torn in pieces, there is not a man 
of mine but hath a brother or a friend upon the 
other party. If, then, I did begin to grant these 
pardons, I might sheathe my sword.” 

“ It may be so, my lord ; and yet I will be over- 
bold, and, at the risk of your disfavour, recall your 
lordship’s promise,” replied Dick. 

Richard of Gloucester flushed. 

“ Mark it right well,” he said, harshly. “ I love 


3o8 the black arrow 

not mercy, nor yet mercymongers. Ye have this 
day laid the foundations of high fortune. If ye 
oppose to me my word, which I have plighted, I 
will yield. But, by the glory of heaven, there your 
favour dies! ” 

“ Mine is the loss,” said Dick. 

“ Give him his sailor,” said the duke ; and wheel- 
ing his horse, he turned his back upon young 
Shelton. 

Dick was nor glad nor sorry. He had seen too 
much of the young duke to set great store on his 
affection ; and the origin and growth of his own 
favour had been too flimsy and too rapid to inspire 
much confidence. One thing alone he feared — 
that the vindictive leader might revoke the offer 
of the lances. But here he did justice neither to 
Gloucester’s honour (such as it was) nor, above 
all, to his decision. If he had once judged Dick 
to be the right man to pursue Sir Daniel, he was 
not one to change ; and he soon proved it by shout- 
ing after Catesby to be speedy, for the paladin was 
waiting. 

In the meanwhile, Dick turned to the old ship- 
man, who had seemed equally indifferent to his 
condemnation and to his subsequent release. 

“ Arblaster,” said Dick, “I have done you ill; 
but now, by the rood, I think I have cleared the 
score.” 

But the old skipper only looked upon him dully 
and held his peace. 

“ Come,” continued Dick, “ a life is a life, old 
shrew, and it is more than ships or liquor. Say 


THE BLACK ARROW 309 

ye forgive me; for if your life be worth nothing 
to you, it hath cost me the beginnings of my 
fortune. Come, I have paid for it dearly; be not 
so churlish.” 

“ An I had had my ship,” said Arblaster, “ I 
1 would ’a’ been forth and safe on the high seas — 
i I and my man Tom. But ye took my ship, gossip, 
j and I ’m a beggar; and for my man Tom, a knave 
I fellow in russet shot him down. ‘ Murrain ! ’ quoth 
he, and spake never again. ‘ Murrain ’ was the last 
of his words, and the poor spirit of him passed. ’A 
will never sail no more, will my Tom.” 

Dick was seized with unavailing penitence and 
pity; he sought to take the skipper’s hand, but 
Arblaster avoided his touch. 

“ Nay,” said he, “ let be. Y’ have played the 
devil with me, and let that content you.” 

The w’ords died in Richard’s throat. He saw, 
through tears, the poor old man„ bemused with 
liquor and sorrow, go shambling away, with bowed 
head, across the snow, and the unnoticed dog 
whimpering at his heels, and for the first time 
began to understand the desperate game that we 
play in life ; and how a thing once done is not to 
be changed or remedied, by any penitence. 

But there was no time left to him for vain regret. 
Catesby had now collected the horsemen, and riding 
up to Dick he dismounted, and offered him his own 
horse. 

“ This morning,” he said, “ I was somewhat 
jealous of your favour; it hath not been of a long 
growth; and now. Sir Richard, it is with a very 


310 THE BLACK ARROW 

good heart that I offer you this horse — to ride 
away with.” 

” Suffer me yet a moment,” replied Dick. “ This 
favour of mine — whereupon was it founded?” 

“ Upon your name,” answered Catesby. “ It is 
my lord’s chief superstition. Were my name Rich- 
ard, I should be an earl to-morrow.” 

“ Well, sir, I thank you,” returned Dick; “ and 
since I am little likely to follow these great for- 
tunes, I will even say farewell. I will not pretend 
I was displeased to think myself upon the road 
to fortune; but 1 will not pretend, neither, that I 
am over-sorry to be done with it. Command 
and riches, they are brave things, to be sure ; but 
a word in your ear — yon duke of yours, he is a 
fearsome lad.” 

Catesby laughed. 

” Nay,” said he, “ of a verity he that rides with 
Crooked Dick will ride deep. Well, God keep us 
all from evil ! Speed ye well.” 

Thereupon Dick put himself at the head of his 
men, and giving the word of command, rode off. 

He made straight across the town, following 
what he supposed to be the route of Sir Daniel, 
and spying around for any signs that might decide 
if he were right. 

The streets were strewn with the dead and the 
wounded, whose fate, in the bitter frost, was far 
the more pitiable. Gangs of the victors went from 
house to house, pillaging and stabbing, and , some- 
times singing together as they went. 

From different quarters, as he rode on, the 


THE BLACK ARROW 311 

sounds of violence and outrage came to young 
Shelton’s ears; now the blows of the sledge-ham- 
mer on some barricaded door, and now the mis- 
erable shrieks of women. 

Dick’s heart had just been awakened. He had 
just seen the cruel consequences of his own be- 
haviour; and the thought of the sum of misery 
that was now acting in the whole of Shoreby filled 
him with despair. 

At length he reached the outskirts, and there, 
sure enough, he saw straight before him the same 
broad, beaten track across the snow that he had 
marked from the summit of the church. Here, 
then, he went the faster on; but still, as he rode, 
he kept a bright eye upon the fallen men and horses 
that lay beside the track. Many of these, he was 
relieved to see, wore Sir Daniel’s colours, and the 
faces of some, who lay upon their back, he even 
recognised. 

About half-way between the town and the forest, 
those whom he was following had plainly been as- 
sailed by archers ; for the corpses lay pretty closely 
scattered, each pierced by an arrow. And here 
Dick spied among the rest the body of a very 
young lad, whose face was somehow hauntingly 
familiar to him. 

He halted his troop, dismounted, and raised the 
lad’s head. As he did so, the hood fell back, and a 
profusion of long brown hair unrolled itself. At 
the same time the eyes opened. 

“Ah! lion driver!” said a feeble voice. “‘She 
is farther on. Ride — ride fast ! ” 


312 THE BLACK ARROW 

And then the poor young lady fainted once 
again. 

One of Dick’s men carried a flask of some strong 
cordial, and with this Dick succeeded in reviving 
consciousness. Then he took Joanna’s friend upon 
his saddle-bow, and once more pushed toward the 
forest. 

“ Why do ye take me? ” said the girl. “ Ye but 
delay your speed.” 

“ Nay, Mistress Risingham,” replied Dick. 
“ Shoreby is full of blood and drunkenness and 
riot. Here ye are safe; content ye.” 

“ I will not be beholden to any of your faction,” 
she cried ; “ set me down.” 

“ Madam, ye know not what ye say,” returned 
Dick. “ Y’ are hurt ” 

“ I am not,” she said. “ It was my horse was 
slain.” 

“ It matters not one jot,” replied Richard. Ye 
are here in the midst of open snow, and compassed 
about with enemies. Whether ye will or not, I 
carry you with me. Glad am I to have the occa- 
sion; for thus shall I repay some portion of our 
debt.” 

For a little while she was silent. Then, very 
suddenly, she asked: 

“ My uncle? ” 

“My Lord Risingham?” returned Dick. “I 
would I had good news to give you, madam; but 
I have none. I saw him once in the battle, and once 
only. Let us hope the best.” 


nee 


CHAPTER V 


IGHT IN THE WOODS: ALICIA RISINGHAM 


T was almost certain that Sir Daniel had made 
for the Moat House; but, considering the 
heavy snow, the lateness of the hour, and 
e necessity under which he would lie of avoiding 
e few roads and striking across the wood, it was 
ually certain that he could not hope to reach it 
e the morrow. 

There were two courses open to Dick : either to 
ntinue to follow in the knight’s trail, and, if he 

f ere able, to fall upon him that very night in camp, 
• to strike out a path of his own, and seek to place 
mself between Sir Daniel and his destination. 
Either scheme was open to serious objection, 
id Dick, who feared to expose Joanna to the 
izards of a fight, had not yet decided between 
em when he reached the borders of the wood. 
At this point Sir Daniel had turned a little to 
s left, and then plunged straight under a grove of 
?ry lofty timber. His party had then formed to a 
arrower front, in order to pass between the trees, 
id the track was trod proportionally deeper in the 
low. The eye followed it, under the leafless 
facery of the oaks, running direct and narrow; 
lie trees stood over it, with knotty joints and the 


314 THE BLACK ARROW 

great, uplifted forest of their boughs; there was 
no sound, whether of man or beast — not so much 
as the stirring of a robin; and over the field of 
snow the winter sun lay golden among netted 
shadows. 

“ How say ye,” asked Dick of one of the men, 

to follow straight on, or strike across for. 
Tunstall?” 

“ Sir Richard,” replied the man-at-arms, “ I 
would follow the line until they scatter.” 

“ Ye are, doubtless, right,” returned Dick; “ but 
we came right hastily upon the errand, even as the 
time commanded. Here are no houses, neither for i 
food nor shelter, and by the morrow’s dawn wq! 
shall know both cold fingers and an empty belly. 
How say ye, lads? Will ye stand a pinch for ex- 
pedition’s sake, or shall we turn by Holywood and 
sup with Mother Church? The case being some- 
what doubtful, I will drive no man ; yet if ye«| 
would suffer me to lead you, ye would choose 
the first.” 

The men answered, almost with one voice, that 
they would follow Sir Richard where he would. 

And Dick, setting spur to his horse, began once 
more to go forward. 

The snow in the trail had been trodden very 
hard, and the pursuers had thus a great advantage 
over the pursued. They pushed on, indeed, at a 
round trot, two hundred hoofs beating alternately 
on the dull pavement of the snow, and the jingle' 
of weapons and the snorting of horses raising a 
warlike noise along the arches of the silent wood.. 


THE BLACK ARROW 315 

wa Presently, the wide slot of the pursued came 
nucl out upon the highroad from Holy wood ; it was 
d 0 ihere, for a moment, indistinguishable ; and, where 
;tte( it once more plunged into the unbeaten snow upon 
:he farther side, Dick was surprised to see it nar- 
KH ‘ower and lighter trod. Plainly, profiting by the 
ioi'*oad. Sir Daniel had begun already to scatter his 
zommand. 

" At all hazards, one chance being equal to an- 
other, Dick continued to pursue the straight trail ; 
l)t and that, after an hour’s riding, in which it led 
th into the very depths of the forest, suddenly split, 
[0 ike a bursting shell, into two dozen others, lead- 
mg to every point of the compass. 

;]1| ^ Dick drew bridle in despair. The short winter’s 
es day was near an end; the sun, a dull red orange, 
jn ^horn of rays, swam low among the leafless 
thickets; the shadows were a mile long upon the 
V anow ; the frost bit cruelly at the finger-nails ; and 
os the breath and steam of the horses mounted in a 
:loud. 

I “ Well, we are outwitted,” Dick confessed. 
I Strike we for Holywood, after all. It is still 
j, learer us than Tunstall — or should be by the 
station of the sun.” 

i So they wheeled to their left, turning their backs 
)n the red shield of sun, and made across country 
or the abbey. But now times were changed with 
hem; they could no longer spank forth briskly 
»n a path beaten firm by the passage of their foes, 
,nd for a goal to which that path itself conducted 
hem. Now they must plough at a dull pace 


3i6 the black arrow 

through the encumbering snow, continually paus-iii 
ing to decide their course, continually floundering b 
in drifts. The sun soon left them; the glow ol “ 
the west decayed; and presently they were wan n 
dering in a shadow of blackness, under frost} ‘ 
stars. x 

Presently, indeed, the moon would clear the hill- ‘ 
tops, and they might resume their march. But til!' ‘ 
then, every random step might carry them widei I 
of their march. There was nothing for it but tcij 
camp and wait. ; 

Sentries were posted; a spot of ground waJii 
cleared of snow, and, after some failures, a gooc ) 
fire blazed in the midst. The men-at-arms sat close i 
about this forest hearth, sharing such provisions]] 
as they had. and passing about the flask ; and Dick I 
having collected the most delicate of the rough and I 
scanty fare, brought it to Lord Risingham’s niece.! 
where she sat apart from the soldiery against 
tree. ! 

She sat upon one horse-cloth, wrapped in an- 1 
other, and stared straight before her at the firelilj 
scene. At the offer of food she started, like omtj 
wakened from a dream, and then silently refused 1] 

“Madam,” said Dick, “let me beseech youii 
punish me not so cruelly. Wherein I have offended 
you, I know not ; I have, indeed, carried you away^ 
but with a friendly violence; I have, indeed, ex- 
posed you to the inclemency of night, but the^ 
hurry that lies upon me hath for its end the pres- 
ervation of another, who is no less frail and nc 
less unfriended than yourself. At least, madam, i 


THE BLACK ARROW 317 

I'Unish not yourself; and eat, if not for hunger, 
:n for strength.” 

‘ I will eat nothing at the hands that slew my 
anhsman,” she replied. 

•St] Dear madam,” Dick cried, “ I swear to you 
on the rood I touched him not.” 
lii “ Swear to me that he still lives,” she returned, 
ti “ I will not palter with you,” answered Dick. 
]e i’ity bids me to wound you. In my heart I do 
t iieve him dead.” 

“ And ye ask me to eat ! ” she cried. “ Ay, and 
ty call you ‘ sir ’ ! Y’ have won your spurs by my 
od kinsman’s murder. And had I not been fool 
d raitor both, and saved you in your enemy’s 
use, ye should have died the death, and he — he 
at was worth twelve of you — were living.” 

“ I did but my man’s best, even as your kinsman 
d upon the other party,” answered Dick. “ Were 
still living — as I vow to Heaven I wish it ! — 

. would praise, not blame me.” 

“ Sir Daniel hath told me,” she replied. “ He 
larked you at the barricade. Upon you, he saith, 
leir party foundered ; it was you that won the 
ittle. Well, then, it was you that killed my good 
brd Risingham, as sure as though ye had strangled 
m. And ye would have me eat with you — and 
bur hands not washed from killing? But Sir 
aniel hath sworn your downfall. He ’t is that 
(ill avenge me ! ” 

The unfortunate Dick was plunged in gloom. 
Id Arblaster returned upon his mind, and he 
roaned aloud. 


ji8 THE BLACK ARROW 

“ Do ye hold me so guilty? ” he said; “ you thai " 
defended me — you that are Joanna’s friend?” ^ 

“What made ye in the battle?” she retorted 
“ Y’ are of no party; y’ are but a lad — but legr 
and body, without government of wit or counsel 
Wherefore did ye fight? For the love of hurt 
pardy!” 

“ Nay,” cried Dick, “ I know not. But as the 
realm of England goes, if that a poor gentleman 
fight not upon the one side, perforce he must fight 
upon the other. He may not stand alone; ’t is not 
in nature.” 

“ They that have no judgment should not draw 
the sword,” replied the young lady. “ Ye that 
fight but for a hazard, what are ye but a butcher? 
War is but noble by the cause, and y’ have dis- 
graced it.” 

“ Madam,” said the miserable Dick, “ I do partly 
see mine error. I have made too much haste; I 
have been busy before my time. Already I stole 
a ship — thinking, I do swear it, to do well — 
and thereby brought about the death of many in- 
nocent, and the grief and ruin of a poor old man 
whose face this very day hath stabbed me like a 
dagger. And for this morning, I did but design 
to do myself credit, and get fame to marry with, 
and, behold! I have brought about the death of 
your dear kinsman that was good to me. And 
what besides, I know not. For, alas! I may have 
set York upon the throne, and that may be the 
worser cause, and may do hurt to England. O, 
madam, I do see my sin. I am unfit for life. I 


THE BLACK ARROW 319 

tnj /ill, for penance sake and to avoid worse evil, 
I" nee I have finished this adventure, get me to a 
loister. I will forswear Joanna and the trade of 
Ifgj rms. I will be a friar, and pray for your good 
5^ insman’s spirit all my days.” 

[■rj It appeared to Dick, in this extremity of his 
umiliation and repentance, that the young lady 
jjyiad laughed. 

Raising his countenance, he found her looking 
,[j lown upon him, in the fire-light, with a somewhat 
>eculiar but not unkind expression. 

“ Madam,” he cried, thinking the laughter to 
lave been an illusion of his hearing, but still, from 
jj ler changed looks, hoping to have touched her 
leart, “ madam, will not this content you ? I give 
j ap all to undo what I have done amiss ; I make 
leaven certain for Lord Risingham. And all this 
jpon the very day that I have won my spurs, and 
;hought myself the happiest young gentleman on 
ground.” 

“ O boy,” she said — “ good boy ! ” 

And then, to the extreme surprise of Dick, she 
first very tenderly wiped the tears away from his 
cheeks, and then, as if yielding to a sudden im- 
pulse, threw both her arms about his neck, drew 
up his face, and kissed him. A pitiful bewilder- 
ment came over simple-minded Dick, 

, “ But come,” she said, with great cheerfulness, 

“ you that are a captain, ye must eat. Why sup 
lye not? ” 

I “ Dear Mistress Risingham,” replied Dick, “ I 
did but wait first upon my prisoner; but, to say 


320 THE BLACK ARROW 

truth, penitence will no longer suffer me to endu: 
the sight of food. I were better to fast, dear lad 
and to pray.” 

“Call me Alicia,” she said; “ are we not o', 
friends? And now, come, I will eat with you, b 
for bit and sup for sup; so if ye eat not, neith( 
will I ; but if ye eat hearty, I will dine like 
ploughman.” 

So there and then she fell to; and Dick, wh 
had an excellent stomach, proceeded to bear h( 
company, at first with great reluctance, but gra( 
ually, as he entered into the spirit, with moi 
and more vigour and devotion : until, at last, I 
forgot even to watch his model, and most hearti' 
repaired the expenses of his day of labour an 
excitement. 

“ Lion-driver,” she said, at length, “ ye do n< 
admire a maid in a man’s jerkin?” 

The moon was now up; and they were on! 
waiting to repose the wearied horses. By tl 
moon’s light, the still penitent but now well-ff 
Richard beheld her looking somewhat coquettish 
down upon him. 

“ Madam ” he stammered, surprised at th 

new turn in her manners. 

“ Nay,” she interrupted, “ it skills not to dem 
Joanna hath told me, but come, sir lion-drive 
look at me — am I so homely — come ! ” 

And she made bright eyes at him. 

“ Ye are something smallish, indeed ” b 

gan Dick. 

And here again she interrupted him, this tin 


THE BLACK ARROW 321 

j ivith a ringing peal of laughter that completed his 
confusion and surprise. 

“ Smallish ! ” she cried. “ Nay, now, be honest 
^ as ye are bold ; I am a dwarf, or little better ; but 
for all that — come, tell me ! — for all that, pass- 
ably fair to look upon; is ’t not so? ” 

“ Nay, madam, exceedingly fair,” said the dis- 
tressed knight, pitifully trying to seem easy. 

“ And a man would be right glad to wed me ? ” 
she pursued. 

“ O, madam, right glad ! ” agreed Dick. 

“ Call me Alicia,” said she. 

I “ Alicia,” quoth Sir Richard. 

“ Well, then, lion-driver,” she continued, “ sith 
that ye slew my kinsman, and left me without stay, 
ve owe me, in honour, every reparation; do ye 
i not?” 

“ I do, madam,” said Dick. “ Although, upon 
my heart, I do hold me but partially guilty of that 
brave knight’s blood.” 

“ Would ye evade me? ” she cried. 

“ Madam, not so. I have told you ; at your 
bidding, I will even turn me a monk,” said 
Richard. 

“ Then, in honour, ye belong to me ? ” she 
concluded. 

“ In honour, madam, I suppose ” began the 

young man. 

“ Go to! ” she interrupted; “ye are too full of 
catclies. In honour do ye belong to me, till ye have 
paid the evil ? ” 

“ In honour, I do,” said Dick. 


21 


322 THE BLACK ARROW 

“ Hear, then,” she continued. “ Ye would make 
but a sad friar, methinks; and since I am to dis- 
pose of you at pleasure, I will even take you for 
my husband. Nay, now, no words ! ” cried she. 
“ They will avail you nothing. For see how just it 
is, that you who deprived me of one home, should 
supply me with another. And as for Joanna, she 
will be the first, believe me, to commend the change ; 
for, after all, as we be dear friends, what matters 
it with which of us ye wed? Not one whit! ” 

“ Madam,” said Dick, “ I will go into a cloister, 
an ye please to bid me ; but to wed with any one in 
this big world besides Joanna Sedley is what I will 
consent to neither for man’s force nor yet for lady’s 
pleasure. Pardon me if I speak my plain thoughts 
plainly ; but where a maid is very bold, a poor man 
must even be the bolder.” 

“ Dick,” she said, “ ye sweet boy, ye must come 
and kiss me for that word. Nay, fear not, ye shall 
kiss me for Joanna; and when we meet, I shall 
give it back to her, and say I stole it. . And as for 
what ye owe me, why, dear simpleton, methinks ye 
were not alone in that great battle; and even if 
York be on the throne, it was not you that set him 
there. But for a good, sweet, honest heart, Dick, 
y’ are all that; and if I could find it in my soul to 
envy your Joanna anything, I would even envy 
her your love.” 


CHAPTER VI 


NIGHT IN THE WOODS {concluded')'. DICK 
AND JOAN 

T he horses had by this time finished the 
small store of provender, and fully 
breathed from their fatigues. At Dick’s 
command, the fire was smothered in snow; and 
while his men got once more wearily to saddle, he 
himself, remembering, somewhat late, true wood- 
land caution, chose a tall oak and nimbly clambered 
to the topmost fork. Hence he could look far 
abroad on the moonlit and snow-paven forest. On 
the south-west, dark against the horizon, stood 
those upland, heathy quarters where he and Joanna 
had met with the terrifying misadventure of the 
leper. And there his eye was caught by a spot of 
ruddy brightness no bigger than a needle’s eye. 

He blamed himself sharply for his previous neg- 
lect. Were that, as it appeared to be, the shining 
of Sir Daniel’s camp-fire, he should long ago have 
seen and marched for it; above all, he should, for 
no consideration, have announced his neighbour- 
hood by lighting a fire of his own. But now he 
must no longer squander valuable hours. The 
direct way to the uplands was about two miles in 
length ; but it was crossed by a very deep, precipi- 


324 THE BLACK ARROW 

tons dingle, impassable to mounted men; and for 
the sake of speed, it seemed to Dick advisable to 
desert the horses and attempt the adventure on 
foot. 

Ten men were left to guard the horses; signals 
were agreed upon by which they could communi- 
cate in case of need ; and Dick set forth at the head 
of the remainder, Alicia Risingham walking stoutly 
by his side. 

The men had freed themselves of heavy armour, 
and left behind their lances ; and they now marched 
with a very good spirit in the frozen snow, and 
under the exhilarating lustre of the moon. The 
descent into the dingle, where a stream strained 
sobbing through the snow and ice, was effected 
with silence and order; and on the further side, 
being then within a short half-mile of where Dick 
had seen the glimmer of the fire, the party halted 
to breathe before the attack. 

In the vast silence of the wood, the lightest 
sounds were audible from far; and Alicia, who 
was keen of hearing, held up her finger warningly 
and stooped to listen. All followed her example; 
but besides the groans of the choked brook in 
the dingle close behind, and the barking of a fox 
at a distance of many miles among the forest, 
to Dick’s acutest hearkening, not a breath was 
audible. 

“ But yet, for sure, I heard the clash of harness,” 
whispered Alicia. 

“ Madam,” returned Dick, who was more afraid 
of that young lady than of ten stout warriors, “ I 


THE BLACK ARROW 325 

: would not hint ye were mistaken; but it might 
I well have come from either of the camps.” 

I “ It came not thence. It came from westward,” 
I she declared. 

j “ It may be what it will,” returned Dick ; “ and 
I it must be as Heaven please. Reck we not a jot, 
' but push on the livelier, and put it to the touch. 
Up, friends — enough breathed.” 

As they advanced, the snow became more and 
more trampled with hoof-marks, and it was plain 
that they were drawing near to the encampment of 
a considerable force of mounted men. Presently 
they could see the smoke pouring from among the 
trees, ruddily coloured on its lower edge and scat- 
tering bright sparks. 

And here, pursuant to Dick’s orders, his men 
began to open out, creeping stealthily in the covert, 
to surround on every side the camp of their oppo- 
nents. He himself, placing Alicia in the shelter of 
a bulky oak, stole straight forth in the direction of 
the fire. 

At last, through an opening of the wood, his eye 
embraced the scene of the encampment. The fire 
had been built upon a heathy hummock of the 
ground, surrounded on three sides by thicket, and 
it now burned very strong, roaring aloud and 
brandishing flames. Around it there sat not quite 
a dozen people, warmly cloaked; but though the 
neighbouring snow was trampled down as by a 
regiment, Dick looked in vain for any horse. He 
began to have a terrible misgiving that he was out- 
manoeuvred. At the same time, in a tall man with 


326 THE BLACK ARROW \ 

a steel salet, who was spreading his hands before 
the blaze, he recognised his old friend and still 
kindly enemy, Bennet Hatch; and in two others, 
sitting a little back, he made out, even in their male 
disguise, Joanna Sedley and Sir Daniel’s wife. 

“ Well,” thought he to himself, “ even if I lose 
my horses, let me get my Joanna, and why should 
I complain ? ” 

And then, from the further side of the encamp- 
ment, there came a little whistle, announcing that 
his men had joined, and the investment was 
complete. 

Bennet, at the sound, started to his feet ; but ere 
he had time to spring upon his arms, Dick hailed 
him. 

“ Bennet,” he said — “ Bennet, old friend, yield 
ye. Ye will but spill men’s lives in vain, if ye 
resist.” 

“ ’T is Master Shelton, by St. Barbary!” cried 
Hatch. “Yield me? Ye ask much. What force 
have ye? ” 

“ I tell you, Bennet, ye are both outnumbered 
and begirt,” said Dick. “ Caesar and Charlemagne 
would cry for quarter. I have two-score men at 
my whistle, and with one shoot of arrows I could 
answer for you all.” 

“ Master Dick,” said Bennet, “ it goes against 
my heart; but I must do my duty. The saints 
help you! ” And therewith he raised a little tucket 
to his mouth and wound a rousing call. 

Then followed a moment of confusion ; for while 
Dick, fearing for the ladies, still hesitated to give 


THE BLACK ARROW 327 

the word to shoot, Hatch’s little band sprang to 
their weapons and formed back to back as for a 
fierce resistance. In the hurry of their change of 
place, Joanna sprang from her seat and ran like 
an arrow to her lover’s side. 

“ Here, Dick ! ” she cried, as she clasped his hand 
in hers. 

But Dick still stood irresolute ; he was yet young 
to the more deplorable necessities of war, and the 
thought of old Lady Brackley checked the com- 
mand upon his tongue. His own men became 
restive. Some of them cried on him by name; 
others, of their own accord, began to shoot; and 
at the first discharge poor Bennet bit the dust. 
Then Dick awoke. 

“ On ! ” he cried. “ Shoot, boys, and keep to 
cover. England and York ! ” 

But just then the dull beat of many horses on 
the snow suddenly arose in the hollow ear of the 
night, and, with incredible swiftness, drew nearer 
and swelled louder. At the same time, answering 
tuckets repeated and repeated Hatch’s call. 

“ Rally, rally ! ” cried Dick. “ Rally upon me ! 
Rally for your lives ! ” 

But his men — afoot, scattered, taken in the 
hour when they had counted on an easy triumph — 
began instead to give ground severally, and either 
stood wavering or dispersed into the thickets. And 
when the first of the horsemen came charging 
through the open avenues and fiercely riding their 
steeds into the underwood, a few stragglers were 
overthrown or speared among the brush, but the 


328 THE BLACK ARROW 

bulk of Dick’s command had simply melted at the 
rumour of their coming. 

Dick stood for a moment, bitterly recognising 
the fruits of his precipitate and unwise valour. Sir 
Daniel had seen the fire; he had moved out with 
his main force, whether to attack his pursuers or to 
take them in the rear if they should venture the 
assault. His had been throughout the part of a 
sagacious captain; Dick’s the conduct of an eager 
boy. And here was the young knight, his sweet- 
heart, indeed, holding him tightly by the hand, but 
otherwise alone, his whole command of men and 
horses dispersed in the night and the wide forest, 
like a paper of pins in a hay barn. 

“ The saints enlighten me ! ” he thought. “ It is 
well I was knighted for this morning’s matter; 
this doth me little honour.” 

And thereupon, still holding Joanna, he began 
to run. 

The silence of the night was now shattered by 
the shouts of the men of Tunstall, as they galloped 
hither and thither, hunting fugitives; and Dick 
broke boldly through the underwood and ran 
straight before him like a deer. The silver clear- 
ness of the moon upon the open snow increased, 
by contrast, the obscurity of the thickets ; and the 
extreme dispersion of the vanquished led the pur- 
suers into wildly divergent paths. Hence, in but 
a little while, Dick and Joanna paused, in a close 
covert, and heard the sounds of the pursuit, scat- 
tering abroad, indeed, in all directions, but yet 
fainting already in the distance. 


THE BLACK ARROW 329 

“ An I had but kept a reserve of them together,” 
Dick cried, bitterly, “ I could have turned the tables 
yet! Well, we live and learn; next time it shall 
go better, by the rood.” 

“ Nay, Dick,” said Joanna, “ what matters it ? 
Here we are together once again.” 

He looked at her, and there she was — John 
Matcham, as of yore, in hose and doublet. But 
now he knew her; now, even in that ungainly 
dress, she smiled upon him, bright with love; and 
his heart was transported with joy. 

“ Sweetheart,” he said, “ if ye forgive this blun- 
derer, what care I? Make we direct for Holy- 
wood; there lieth your good guardian and my 
better friend, Lord Foxham. There shall we be 
wed; and whether poor or wealthy, famous or 
unknown, what matters it ? This day, dear love, I 
won my spurs ; I was commended by great men for 
my valour ; I thought myself the goodliest man of 
war in all broad England. Then, first, I fell out of 
my favour with the great ; and now have I been well 
thrashed, and clean lost my soldiers. There was a 
downfall for conceit I But, dear, I care not — dear, 
if ye still love me and will wed, I would have my 
knighthood done away, and mind it not a jot.” 

“ My Dick ! ” she cried. “ And did they knight 
you?” 

“ Ay, dear, ye are my lady now,” he answered, 
fondly ; or ye shall, ere noon to-morrow — will 
ye not ? ” 

“ That will I, Dick, with a glad heart,” she 
answered. 


330 


THE BLACK ARROW 


“ Ay, sir ? Methought ye were to be a monk ! ” 
said a voice in their ears. 

“ Alicia ! ” cried Joanna. 

“ Even so,” replied the young lady, coming for- 
ward. “ Alicia, whom ye left for dead, and whom 
your lion-driver found, and brought to life again, 
and, by my sooth, made love to, if ye want to 
know ! ” 

“ I ’ll not believe it,” cried Joanna. “ Dick! ” 

“ Dick I ” mimicked Alicia. “ Dick, indeed ! 
Ay, fair sir, and ye desert poor damsels in dis- 
tress,” she continued, turning to the young knight. 
“Ye leave them planted behind oaks. But they 
say true — the age of chivalry is dead.” 

“ Madam,” cried Dick, in despair, “upon my soul 
I had forgotten you outright. Madam, ye must try 
to pardon me. Ye see, I had new found Joanna! ” 

“ I did not suppose that ye had done it o’ pur- 
pose,” she retorted. “ But I will be cruelly 
avenged. I will tell a secret to my Lady Shelton 
— she that is to be,” she added, curtseying. “ Jo- 
anna,” she continued, “ I believe, upon my soul, 
your sweetheart is a bold fellow in a fight, but he 
is, let me tell you plainly, the softest-hearted sim- 
pleton in England. Go to — ye may do your pleas- 
ure with him! And now, fool children, first kiss 
me, either one of you, for luck and kindness ; and 
then kiss each other just one minute by the glass, 
and not one second longer; and then let us all 
three set forth for Holywood as fast as we can 
stir; for these woods, methinks, are full of peril 
and exceeding cold.” 


THE BLACK ARROW 331 

“ But did my Dick make love to you ? ” asked 
Joanna, clinging to her sweetheart’s side. 

“Nay, fool ^irl,” returned Alicia; “it was I 
made love to him. I offered to marry him, in- 
deed; but he bade me go marry with my likes. 
These were his words. Nay, that I will say: he 
is more plain than pleasant. But now, children, 
for the sake of sense, set forward. Shall we go 
once more over the dingle, or push straight for 
Holy wood ? ” 

“ Why,’’ said Dick, “ I would like dearly to get 
upon a horse; for I have been sore mauled and 
beaten, one way and another, these last days, and 
my poor body is one bruise. But how think ye? 
If the men, upon the alarm of the fighting, had 
fled away, we should have gone about for nothing. 
’T is but some three short miles to Holywood 
direct; the bell hath not beat nine; the snow is 
pretty firm to walk upon, the moon clear; how 
if we went even as we are ? ” 

“ Agreed,” cried Alicia; but Joanna only pressed 
upon Dick’s arm. 

Forth, then, they went, through open leafless 
groves and down snow-clad alleys, under the white 
face of the winter moon ; Dick and Joanna walking 
hand in hand and in a heaven of pleasure; and 
their light-minded companion, her own bereave- 
ments heartily forgotten, followed a pace or two 
behind, now rallying them upon their silence, and 
now drawing happy pictures of their future and 
united lives. 

Still, indeed, in the distance of the wood, the 


332 THE BLACK ARROW 

riders of Tunstall might be heard urging their 
pursuit; and from time to time cries or the clash 
of steel announced the shock of enemies. But in 
these young folk, bred among the alarms of war, 
and fresh from such a multiplicity of dangers, 
neither fear nor pity could be lightly wakened. 
Content to find the sounds still drawing farther 
and farther away, they gave up their hearts to the 
enjoyment of the hour, walking already, as Alicia 
put it, in a wedding procession ; and neither the 
rude solitude of the forest, nor the cold of the 
freezing night, had any force to shadow or dis- 
tract their happiness. 

At length, from a rising hill, they looked below 
them on the dell of Holywood. The great windows 
of the forest abbey shone with torch and candle; 
its high pinnacles and .spires arose very clear and 
silent, and the gold rood upon the topmost summit 
glittered brightly in the moon. All about it, in the 
open glade, camp-fires were burning, and the 
ground was thick with huts; and across the midst 
of the picture the frozen river curved. 

“ By the mass,” said Richard, “ there are Lord 
Foxham’s fellows still encamped. The messenger 
hath certainly miscarried. Well, then, so better. 
We have power at hand to face Sir Daniel.” 

But if Lord Foxham’s men still lay encamped in 
the long holm at Holywood, it was from a differ- 
ent reason from the one supposed by Dick. They 
had marched, indeed, for Shoreby; but ere they 
were half-way thither, a second messenger met 
them, and bade them return to their morning’s 


THE BLACK ARkOW jjj 

camp, to bar the road against Lancastrian fugi- 
tives, and to be so much nearer to the main army; 
of York. For Richard of Gloucester, having fin- 
ished the battle and stamped out his foes in that 
district, was already on the march to rejoin his 
brother; and not long after the return of my 
Lord Foxham’s retainers. Crookback himself drew 
rein before the abbey door. It was in honour of 
this august visitor that the windows shone with 
lights; and at the hour of Dick’s arrival with 
his sweetheart and her friend, the whole ducal 
party was being entertained in the refectory with 
the splendour of that powerful and luxurious 
monastery. 

Dick, not quite with his good-will, was brought 
before them. Gloucester, sick with fatigue, sat 
leaning upon one hand his white and terrifying 
countenance; Lord Foxham, half recovered from 
his wound, was in a place of honour on his left. 

“ How, sir ? ” asked Richard. “ Have ye brought 
me Sir Daniel’s head ? ” 

“ My lord duke,” replied Dick, stoutly enough, 
but with a qualm at heart, “ I have not even the 
good fortune to return with my command. I have 
been, so please your grace, well beaten.” 

Gloucester looked upon him with a formidable 
frown. 

“ I gave you fifty lances,^ sir,” he said. 

“ My lord duke, I had but fifty men-at-arms,” 
replied the young knight. 

1 Technically, the term “lance” included a not quite certain 
number of foot soldiers attached to the man-at-arms. 


334 the black ARROW 

“ How is this? ” said Gloucester. “ He did ask 
me fifty lances.” 

” May it please your grace,” replied Catesby, 
smoothly, “ for a pursuit we gave him but the 
horsemen.” 

“ It is well,” replied Richard, adding, “ Shelton, 
ye may go.” 

“ Stay ! ” said Lord Foxham. “ This young man 
likewise had a charge from me. It may be he hath 
better sped. Say, Master Shelton, have ye found 
the maid? ” 

“ I praise the saints, my lord,” said Dick, “ she 
is in this house.” 

“ Is it even so? Well, then, my lord the duke,” 
resumed Lord Foxham, “ with your good-will, to- 
morrow, before the army march, I do propose a 
marriage. This young squire ” 

“ Young knight,” interrupted Catesby. 

“ Say ye so. Sir William? ” cried Lord Foxham. 

“ I did myself, and for good service, dub him 
knight,” said Gloucester. “ He hath twice man- 
fully served me. It is not valour of hands, it is 
a man’s mind of iron, that he lacks. He will not 
rise, Lord Foxham. ’T is a fellow that will fight 
indeed bravely in a mellay, but hath a capon’s heart. 
Howbeit, if he is to marry, marry him in the name 
of Mary, and be done ! ” 

“ Nay, he is a brave lad — I know it,” said Lord 
Foxham. “ Content ye, then. Sir Richard. I have 
compounded this afifair with Master Hamley, and 
to-morrow ye shall wed.” 

Whereupon Dick judged it prudent to withdraw; 


THE BLACK ARROW 335 

but he was not yet clear of the refectory, when a 
man, but newly alighted at the gate, came running 
four stairs at a bound, and, brushing through the 
abbey servants, threw himself on one knee before 
the duke. 

“ Victory, my lord,” he cried. 

And before Dick had got to the chamber set 
apart for him as Lord Foxham’s guest, the troops 
in the holm were cheering around their fires; for 
upon that same day, not twenty miles away, a 
second crushing blow had been dealt to the power 
of Lancaster. 


CHAPTER VII 

DICK’S REVENGE 


T he next morning Dick was afoot before 
the sun, and having dressed himself to 
the best advantage with the aid of the 
Lord Foxham’s baggage, and got good reports 
of Joan, he set forth on foot to walk away his 
impatience. 

For some while he made rounds among the 
soldiery, who were getting to arms in the wintry 
twilight of the dawn and by the red glow of 
torches; but gradually he strolled further afield, 
and at length passed clean beyond the outposts, 
and walked alone in the frozen forest, waiting for 
the sun. 

His thoughts were both quiet and happy. His 
brief favour with the duke he could not find it 
in his heart to mourn ; with Joan to wife, and 
my Lord Foxham for a faithful patron, he looked 
most happily upon the future; and in the past he 
found but little to regret. 

As he thus strolled and pondered, the solemn 
light of the morning grew more clear, the east was 
already coloured by the sun, and a little scathing 
wind blew up the frozen snow. He turned to go 
home; but even as he turned, his eye lit upon a 
figure behind a tree. 


THE BLACK ARROW 


337 


“ Stand ! ” he cried. “ Who goes? ” 

The figure stepped forth and waved its hand like 
a dumb person. It was arrayed like a pilgrim, the 
hood lowered over the face, but Dick, in an instant, 
recognised Sir Daniel. 

He strode up to him, drawing his sword; and 
the knight, putting his hand in his bosom, as if 
to seize a hidden weapon, steadfastly awaited his 
approach. 

“ Well, Dickon,” said Sir Daniel, “ how is it to 
be ? Do ye make war upon the fallen ? ” 

“ I made no war upon your life,” replied the 
lad ; “ I was your true friend until ye sought for 
mine; but ye have sought for it greedily.” 

“ Nay — self-defence,” replied the knight. “ And 
now, boy, the news of this battle, and the presence 
of yon crooked devil here in mine own wood, have 
broken me beyond all help. I go to Holy wood for 
sanctuary ; thence overseas, with what I can carry, 
and to begin life again in Burgundy or France.” 

“Ye may not go to Holy wood,” said Dick. 

“ How ! May not ? ” asked the knight. 

“ Look ye. Sir Daniel, this is my marriage 
morn,” said Dick; “and yon sun that is to rise 
will make the brightest day that ever shone for 
me. Your life is forfeit — doubly forfeit, for my 
father’s death and your own practices to meward. 
But I myself have done amiss; I have brought 
about men’s deaths; and upon this glad day I 
will be neither judge nor hangman. An ye were 
the devil, I would not lay a hand on you. An ye 
were the devil, ye might go where ye will for me. 

22 


338 THE BLACK ARROW 

Seek God’s forgiveness; mine ye have freely. But 
to go on to Holywood is different. I carry arms 
for York, and I will suffer no spy within their 
lines. Hold it, then, for certain, if ye set one foot 
before another, I will uplift my voice and call the 
nearest post to seize you.” 

“Ye mock me,” said Sir Daniel. “ I have no 
safety out of Holywood.” 

“ I care no more,” returned Richard. “ I let 
you go east, west, or south ; north I will not. 
Holywood is shut against you. Go, and seek not 
to return. For, once ye are gone, I will warn 
e^’ery post about this army, and there will be so 
shrewd a watch upon all pilgrims that, once again, 
were ye the very devil, ye would find it ruin to 
make the essay.” 

“Ye doom me,” said Sir Daniel, gloomily. 

“ I doom you not,” returned Richard. “ If it 
so please you to set your valour against mine, 
come on; and though I fear it be disloyal to my 
party, I will take the challenge openly and fully, 
fight you with mine own single strength, and call 
for none to help me. So shall I avenge my father, 
with a perfect conscience.” 

“ Ay,” said Sir Daniel, “ y’ have a long sword 
against my dagger.” 

“ I rely upon Heaven only,” answered Dick, cast- 
ing his sword some way behind him on the snow. 
“ Now, if your ill-fate bids you, come; and, under 
the pleasure of the Almighty, I make myself bold 
to feed your bones to foxes.” 

“ I did but try you, Dickon,” returned the 


THE BLACK ARROW 339 

^ knight, with an uneasy semblance of a laugh. “ I 
would not spill your blood.” 

“ Go, then, ere it be too late,” replied Shelton. 

[ “ In five minutes I will call the post. I do perceive 

that I am too long-suffering. Had but our places 
been reversed, I should have been bound hand and 
foot some minutes past.” 

“ Well, Dickon, I will go,” replied Sir Daniel. 
“ When we next meet, it shall repent you that ye 
were so harsh.” 

And with these words, the knight turned and 
began to move off under the trees. Dick watched 
him with strangely-mingled feelings, as he went, 
swiftly and warily, and ever and again turning a 
wicked eye upon the lad who had spared him, and 
whom he still suspected. 

There was upon one side of where he went 
a thicket, strongly matted with green ivy, and, 
even in its* winter state, impervious to the eye. 
Herein, all of a sudden, a bow sounded like a 
note of music. An arrow flew, and with a great, 
choked cry of agony and anger, the Knight of 
Tunstall threw up his hands and fell forward in 
the snow. 

Dick bounded to his side and raised him. His 
face desperately worked ; his whole body was 
shaken by contorting spasms. 

“ Is the arrow black ? ” he gasped. 

“ It is black,” replied Dick, gravely. 

And then, before he could add one word, a des- 
perate seizure of pain shook the wounded man 
from head to foot, so that his body leaped in Dick’s 


340 THE BLACK ARROW 

^ supporting arms, and with the extremity of that 
pang his spirit fled in silence. 

The young man laid him back gently on the 
snow and prayed for that unprepared and guilty 
spirit, and as he prayed the sun came up at a bound, 
and the robins began chirping in the ivy. 

When he rose to his feet, he found another man 
upon his knees but a few steps behind him, and, 
still with uncovered head, he waited until that 
prayer also should be over. It took long; the man, 
with his head bowed and his face covered with his 
hands, prayed like one in a great disorder or dis- 
tress of mind ; and by the bow that lay beside him, 
Dick judged that he was no other than the archer 
who had laid Sir Daniel low. 

At length he, also, rose, and showed the coun- 
tenance of Ellis Duckworth. 

“ Richard,” he said, very gravely, “ I heard you. 
Ye took the better part and pardoned; I took the 
worse, and there lies the clay of mine enemy. Pray 
for me.” 

And he wrung him by the hand. 

“ Sir,” said Richard, “ I will pray for you, in- 
deed; though how I may prevail I wot not. But 
if ye have so long pursued revenge, and find it now 
of such a sorry flavour, bethink ye, were it not well 
to pardon others ? Hatch — he is dead, poor 
shrew ! I would have spared a better ; and for Sir 
Daniel, here lies his body. But for the priest, if 
I might anywise prevail, I would have you let him 
go.” 

A flash came into the eyes of Ellis Duckworth. 


THE BLACK ARROW 341 


“ Nay,” he said, “ the devil is still strong within 
me. But be at rest; the Black Arrow flieth never- 
more — the fellowship is broken. They that still 
live shall come to their quiet and ripe end, in 
Heaven’s good time, for me ; and for yourself, go 
where your better fortune calls you, and think no 
more of Ellis.” 


CHAPTER VIII 

CONCLUSION 

A BOUT nine in the morning, Lord Foxham 
/ \ was leading his ward, once more dressed 
JL JL as befitted her sex, and followed by Alicia 
Risingham, to the church of Holywood, when 
Richard Crookback, his brow already heavy with 
cares, crossed their path and paused. 

“ Is this the maid ? ” he asked ; and when Lord 
Foxham had replied in the affirmative, “ Minion,” 
he added, “ hold up your face until I see its 
favour.” 

He looked upon her sourly for a little. 

“Ye are fair,” he said at last, “ and, as they tell 
me, dowered. How if I offered you a brave mar- 
riage, as became your face and parentage ? ” 

' “ My lord duke,” replied Joanna, “ may it please 

your grace, I had rather wed with Sir Richard.” 

“ How so ? ” he asked, harshly. “ Marry but 
the man I name to you, and he shall be my lord, 
and you my lady, before night. For Sir Richard, 
let me tell you plainly, he will die Sir Richard.” 

“ I ask no more of Heaven, my lord, than but to 
die Sir Richard’s wife,” returned Joanna. 

“ Look ye at that, my lord,” said Gloucester, 
turning to Lord Foxham. “ Here be a pair for 


THE BLACK ARROW 


343 


you. The lad, when for good services I gave him 
his choice of my favour, chose but the grace of an 
old, drunken shipman. I did warn him freely, but 
he was stout in his besottedness. ‘ Here dieth your 
favour,’ said I ; and he, my lord, with a most as- 
sured impertinence, ‘ Mine be the loss,’ quoth he. 
It shall be so, by the rood ! ” 

“ Said he so? ” cried Alicia. “ Then well said, 
lion-driver ! ” 

“ Who is this? ” asked the duke. 

“ A prisoner of Sir Richard’s,” answered Lord 
Foxham ; “ Mistress Alicia Risingham.” 

” See that she be married to a sure man,” said 
the duke. 

“ I had thought of my kinsman, Hamley, an it 
like your grace,” returned Lord Foxham. “ He 
hath well served the cause.” 

“ It likes me well,” said Richard. “ Let them be 
wedded speedily. Say, fair maid, will you wed ? ” 

“ My lord duke,” said Alicia, “ so as the man is 
straight ” And there, in a perfect consterna- 

tion, the voice died on her tongue. 

“ He is straight, my mistress,” replied Richard, 
calmly. “ I am the only crookback of my party ; 
we are else passably well shapen. Ladies, and you, 
my lord,” he added, with a sudden change to grave 
courtesy, “ judge me not too churlish if I leave 
you. A captain, in the time of war, hath not the 
ordering of his hours.” 

And with a very handsome salutation he passed 
on, followed by his officers. 

“Alack,” cried Alicia, “I am shentl” 


344 THE BLACK ARROW 

“Ye know him not,” replied Lord Foxham. “ It 
is but a trifle; he hath already clean forgot your 
words.” 

“ He is, then, the very flower of knighthood,” 
said Alicia. 

“ Nay, he but mindeth other things,” returned 
Lord Foxham. “ Tarry we no more.” 

In the chancel they found Dick waiting, attended 
by a few young men ; and there were he and Joan 
united. When they came forth again, happy and 
yet serious, into the frosty air and sunlight, the 
long files of the army were already winding for- 
ward up the road ; already the Duke of Gloucester's 
banner was unfolded and began to move from 
before the abbey in a clump of spears ; and behind 
it, girt by steel-clad knights, the bold, black- 
hearted, and ambitious hunchback moved on 
towards his brief kingdom and his lasting infamy. 
But the wedding party turned upon the other side, 
and sat down, with sober merriment, to breakfast. 
The father cellarer attended on their wants, and 
sat with them at table. Hamley, all jealousy for- 
gotten, began to ply the nowise loth Alicia with 
courtship. And there, amid the sounding of tuckets 
and the clash of armoured soldiery and horses con- 
tinually moving forth, Dick and Joan sat side by 
side, tenderly held hands, and looked, with ever 
growing affection, in each other’s eyes. 

Thenceforth the dust and blood of that unruly 
epoch passed them by. They dwelt apart from 
alarms in the green forest where their love 
began. 


THE BLACK ARROW 345 

Two old men in the meanwhile enjoyed pensions 
in great prosperity and peace, and with perhaps a 
superfluity of ale and wine, in Tunstall hamlet. 
One had been all his life a shipman, and continued 
to the last to lament his man Tom. The other, 
who had been a bit of everything, turned in the end 
towards piety, and made a most religious death 
under the name of Brother Honestus in the neigh- 
bouring abbey. So Lawless had his will, and died 
a friar. 


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